


In the Eye of the Hurricane (Never Let Me Leave)

by JZXR7



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Drugs, Drunkeness, Emotional repression is a bad coping mechanism kids, F/F, Nudity, Really bad dancing, Tissaia tries and fails to remain professional, Use of telepathy for sexual purposes, Yennefer is a little shit, both recreational and part of an assasination attempt, gay pining, horrible flirting, so is everyone else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:47:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22147408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JZXR7/pseuds/JZXR7
Summary: It has been almost a week since the battle of Sodden. Tissaia has been forced to return to Aretuza alone, the supposed loss of one of her most talented mages weighing heavily on her consciousness.And then the supposedly dead Yennefer of Vengerberg appears, semi-conscious, in her bedroom.Chaos ensues, as it always has done when Yennefer is present. As they say, keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer, and keep your flirtatious annoyances hidden away in your bedroom.
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 123
Kudos: 744





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm dedicating this to blood-inthefields on Tumblr because I basically wrote this screaming in their messages.

Tissaia rests her head on her desk, willing herself to lose consciousness. A storm rages on outside, reminiscent of the gale she’d summoned days ago that upended the careful order kept in her bedroom. The dark wood of her bureau is now approaching black, still quietly smoldering from some stray fireball or another. She lost track. She’s aware her face is inches from the latest plate of food poor Triss had attempted to bully her into eating, and she closes her eyes to ignore the rather shameful setting of her inglorious defeat.

She had foolishly thought that returning triumphant from Sodden would create a narrow window of opportunity to make demands of the council, increase her influence, and try to save the pompous fools of Aretuza from themselves. She had been mistaken. Or perhaps she’d simply made the wrong demands. That tends to happen when one appears in a council meeting semi-hysterical, demanding resources to hunt down a lost mage. 

Not just any mage, of course. That might have been granted. But when the woman in question has vaporized an entire army, may very well have sacrificed herself to do it, and terrifies a good portion of the room, success is unlikely. Stregobor had insisted she stay in Aretuza to “recover,” but it was clear he was attempting to limit her opportunities for further unsanctioned action. The only action she wanted to take was painting the council room red with his-

_Bang!_

She looked up, surveying her crumbling quarters to identify just what she’d destroyed this time. Maybe if she was lucky the entire tower would collapse, and she wouldn’t need to deal with this anymore. If it crushed that _man_ on the way down, it would be infinitely worth it.

The tower, as evidenced by the fact she is not falling at a great velocity, had not collapsed. However, the woman at the center of her room looks as if she’s about to. Long dark hair, matted and plastered to her face. Dress an unidentifiable color under streaks of soot and blood. There’s blood on her face, too, and she can’t determine if it’s fresh or not. 

Tissaia is prepared to collapse again, accepting her visitor as just yet another magical outburst, when the barely-standing figure finishes looking about and speaks.

“Sorry I’m late.” 

Tissaia’s head whips off the desk. There’s no way. The voice she is hearing is impossible. Its owner is very likely dead, as is Tissaia’s career, sacrificed trying to find her. She must finally be going mad.

“Yennefer?”

“I really thought,” the woman in question wheezes out, doubled over in what may be pain or exhaustion, “...that you'd be more organized. This is a pigsty.” She smirks at the irony of the statement, eyes settled on Tissaia as if this is just a friendly meeting between colleagues instead of the crumbling of the Rectoress’s remaining mental stability. With that, Yennefer stumbles over a pile of books spilling from a collapsed shelf, the casualty of an unintentional earthquake, and falls to the floor in a dead faint.

Tissaia launches herself at the unconscious woman, tripping over the hem of her dress in her haste. She grasps at any part of Yennefer she can reach, running her hands over her face and throat, desperately searching for a pulse. A hysterical laugh burbles out of her throat as she feels Yennefer’s heart beating beneath her hands. She’s real. She’s _here._ And why not? She always was good for a portal in mortal peril. Tissaia can feel her body slumping, days of not eating finally taking their toll, the faintness in her head and buzzing in her limbs becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. She straightens. This is not the time. Tissaia is less than willing to leave an injured woman on her floor but recognizes that she is clearly in no condition to care for herself, much less her errant student. She staggers out the door, a ghost emerging from a tomb, and lurches towards where they’ve stuck the mages that made it back from Sodden. She is going to fix this. She is going to get her girls, and _they_ are going to fix this.

It takes approximately five seconds for Sabrina and Triss to look at each other and rush Tissaia back to her room, whispering back and forth in a manner they must think is discrete but that she can definitely hear, and would be offended over if she didn’t look quite so terrible. The fact that her goal in the first place was to get them to her room as soon as possible may have helped form this conclusion. 

“Tissaia, what the fuck?” Her two slack-jawed accomplices could be referring to the state of the room, the massive pile of untouched food, her general appearance, or the unconscious woman lying on her floor. Tissaia had been in no condition to lift her, regrettably, and now she makes quite the alarming picture in the epicenter of the wreckage. 

“Yes. That’s why I went to fetch you.” She can see on their faces that this is in no way a suitable explanation. Removing herself from her position propped up between the two alarmed sorceresses, she walks as steadily as she is able to Yennefer, who has not moved an inch but appears to still be breathing regularly. “Yennefer has decided to grace us with her presence. I think she might require medical assistance. Due to the nature of her reappearance and her popularity here, I thought it best to maintain a certain level of...discretion.” She does not need to say how precarious Yennefer’s safety would be if the council should catch wind of her survival and current vulnerability. No, it’s a far better idea to keep this in-house, with people she can more or less trust.

“She looks dreadful.” Sabrina inches forward, fingers fluttering about Yennefer’s face as if afraid her ailments might transfer should she make contact. 

“So did you, after the battle. Are you sure we shouldn’t get someone else? Anyone else?” Tissaia shakes her head, and Triss accepts the command. The three of them peel Yennefer’s ruined dress off of her, examining her body for gashes and untreated wounds. However, she appears relatively unscathed, all damage inflicted by her own spellcasting. The only cure will be food and rest. 

It’s imperative she remains guarded and safe during her recovery. Tissaia cannot lose her again, she won’t allow it. “Are we going to clean her up, then? Because she smells like fire, and I can’t figure out if that’s because she was _on fire_ or just because she’s been in this room.” Triss’s grin is warm as she speaks, clearly defaulting to teasing Tissaia when presented with the sheer insanity of this situation: the Rectoress who lost her mind and the mage who came back from the dead. She’ll admit it’s not the easiest escapade to be pulled into.

“A bath would be lovely, actually,” Yennefer croaks, shattering any mounting tension. Triss dives onto the woman for a forceful embrace, suddenly unable to be bothered about her state of undress and general level of filth. 

“Wonderful. She’s awake. Can I go now?” Sabrina’s eyes lock with Tissaia’s. Tears are pooling, and the girl radiates discomfort. Tissaia sighs and waves a hand, dismissing her before the sheer emotion of it all reaches more irritating heights. There’s only so much upheaval and feelings they can all take in a day. 

“Fill the bathtub first.” Tissaia hates to admit it, but she’s in no condition for even the most mundane of magic. “And come see me in the morning. We’ll have to keep her here, and we all know how cooperative she’s likely to be once she’s slept.” Hopefully, between the three of them, Yennefer’s proclivity for chaos will be contained. Right now she seems so peaceful, Triss attempting in vain to get her hair in some kind of order and the blood away from her eyes, but once she has her energy back Tissaia knows she will effectively be playing host and nursemaid to a tornado in her rooms. She couldn’t be happier to have Yennefer back, but keeping her will be quite the challenge if she dramatically announces her presence early to the wrong ears.

“I don’t require supervision.”

“Yes, you do!” The response is simultaneous and fervent, Triss and Tissaia looking at each other with vaguely harried expressions. Triss’s warm eyes beg Tissaia to be the leader, control the situation and Yennefer, and for once Tissaia resents her consistent role as the one in charge. 

“The council may not be...pleased at your reappearance.”

Yennefer snorts, throwing her head back at the ridiculousness of that statement. “Of course not. And if they don’t like it I can burn them all.” Tissaia believes it. In a few days, Yennefer may very well become Stregobor’s worst nightmare, but for now, keeping her calm and happy will become hers.

“Heal first, Yennefer.” She places a hand on Triss’s arm, guiding her to the door. “Would you take her tomorrow? I feel as though my own reappearance is long overdue.” 

“If you eat.” Triss stands up as straight as she’s able, looming over Tissaia as sternly as is possible for the woman. Tissaia deflates, intent on arranging things as soon as possible.

“Yes, fine, I may as well set a decent example for our guest. Go to sleep, Triss. It’s late.” She can hear a parting shot that sounds something like “You’re the one that woke us up!” as she shuts the door. Which is a valid point, she will admit. 

“Does that mean you’re gonna clean me up?” Yennefer has dragged herself up onto her elbows, forehead creasing with the effort. Tissaia would assume asking her to stand for herself would be outrageous, never mind giving herself a bath. She sighs, wondering when she went from Rectoress to a humble caretaker, but nods and drags Yennefer to her feet. It’s an arduous trek to her bathroom, Yennefer’s arm over her shoulders and weight pressing against her side as they stumble forward, mincing around the various casualties of Tissaia’s daily outbursts. She can work on the general state of her room later. Dealing with her new dependant comes first.

Getting Yennefer into the bathtub is a labor of its own. Her limbs don’t seem to cooperate with the rest of her, and she clings to Tissaia tightly enough to almost send them both tumbling into the water. She pulls at Yennefer’s clenched fingers, attempting to remove them from where she’s got a death grip on Tissaia’s nightgown, and is rewarded with a wave of water soaking the front of her dress as Yennefer finally drops her arms with far more force than necessary. Tissaia favors her with a brittle smile. She’s tempted to scold her, but she only has just got the menace back, and she is still quite a wreck from her time abandoned on the battlefield. Tissaia will let her immaturity slide for today.

The first task to start is cleaning Yennefer’s face. Tissaia barely recognized her upon entrance, and the mask of blood and ash caking her skin was likely the reason. The ash comes off with water like cheap face powder, but the blood has had days to dry and is stubborn. Yennefer has no compunctions against complaining loudly each time Tissaia is too rough trying to scrub the remnants from around her eyes, and towards the end, she’s tempted to attempt a magical removal. Only her state of complete exhaustion prevents it.

“This is taking forever,” Yennefer whines. She’s glancing up at Tissaia, violet eyes open wide as her face twists into a pout. She bears an uncanny resemblance to a kicked puppy.

“I am not letting you sleep in my bed while wearing a forest’s worth of dirt.” Tissaia does her best to sound firm in that assertion, but she and most likely Yennefer know that should the younger woman pout enough then Tissaia will have no choice but to oblige her every request. 

“At least buy a girl dinner first.” Yennefer’s face has split into a pleased grin, eyes narrowed in an open challenge. It’s probable that she’s chosen to be difficult in response to her house arrest in Tissaia’s chambers, and Tissaia will not be humoring her. “Maybe this is taking so long because you like looking at me.” 

Tissaia will insist that she is not blushing. She has no reason to. Yennefer may be lovely, as all her ascended students turn out to be, but she’s also filthy and quite alarmingly thin. Even if her skin is very soft, and her perfume still lingers somehow. That’s not important, because the last thing Tissaia is concerned with right now is her body.

The insinuation still gets a reaction, and while she hates that Yennefer can so easily get under her skin like no one else she’s too ecstatic at her reappearance to be irritated.

Yennefer seems only to be encouraged by the lack of a response. “You could just join me if you like. I could fix your hair for you. It’s a disaster.” It is. Several days of accidentally summoning storms in an enclosed space have that effect. Tissaia realizes slightly too late that is not the part of Yennefer’s ramblings she should have focused on. She is reminded of this as Yennefer turns to face her, leaning against the edge of the tub and beaming. Tissaia locks her gaze on the other woman’s face and refuses to engage in whatever bizarre game she’s being challenged to. 

“I think this is the best we’re going to get. Stay there. You’ll have to borrow something of mine.” 

“Are you sure leaving me unsupervised would be safe? Who knows, I might decide to portal away and duel Stregobor.” 

Tissaia refuses to turn around, somewhat nervous as to what image would greet her if she did. Not that it would matter, because of course, the only important thing at this moment is getting Yennefer to rest so she can recover properly. “Do you _require_ supervision?” It comes out sharper than she’d intended, and she can imagine the wounded look Yennefer has no doubt practiced in a mirror plastering itself on her face.

“I might.” Her voice has dropped into a sultry purr, and Tissaia can hear a splash, then the sound of dripping. She’s just starting to turn to face her annoyance when two damp arms drop over her shoulders, the rest of Yennefer’s body pressing against her back. “You mentioned something about getting me clothes?” She did mention that. She wishes she’d done so faster, as while with the cocktail of annoyance and fear and joy she’d experienced since Yennefer’s arrival has done much to affect her brain, it had done little to mute the more...hormonal aspects of the thing, to her intense regret. 

“Right. Clothes…” She lurches forward, throws open her wardrobe and grabs two nightgowns at random, her own quite soaked after dealing with the other woman. Darting forward and keeping her eyes above chest level, she stuffs the first of them over Yennefer’s head. As soon as she’s covered Tissaia manages to relax. Yennefer is no doubt behaving erratically due to all she’s been through, Tissaia reacting in a way she considers undignified as a result of her withdrawal since Yennefer’s disappearance. This was a temporary, if inconvenient, situation. She would resolve it, Yennefer would become her usual self, and then she’d likely portal away never to be seen again. Something deep in her chest throbbed with the thought, but seeing as it had been causing her grief nonstop since Sodden she would ignore it. She waved Yennefer over to her bed, waiting for the other woman to settle in before collapsing herself. It was mere moments before the tendrils of sleep began to drag her away, the image of Yennefer’s face blurring as her eyes drifted shut.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer gets cabin fever, and Tissaia gets back to work.
> 
> Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had PLANNED to post this tomorrow but I guess y'all are just lucky. Don't get used to punctuality though.

Sabrina Glevissig was not having a good morning. She was awoken far too early by a giddy servant, eager to share the day’s gossip for a few coins. This was a routine Sabrina usually quite enjoyed. Unfortunately, she was born with the ability to care for others, no matter how much they irritated her by waking her up at midnight to join a bizarre plot against the council, and so she was quite put out when Mara leaned over to announce that the Rectoress had gone mad.

“I beg your pardon?” She was not begging for anything, but it sounded better than “How dare you?” Not that she cared too much for Tissaia, but the woman was almost maternal, enough that Sabrina had no desire to turn her fat, anyway, and it wouldn’t do if she lost her mind with a fugitive in her bedroom.

“Haven’t you heard?” Sabrina wondered how she could have heard if she’d been asleep until Mara arrived, but said nothing. Some people just need to talk to feel valued, and the chambermaid was one of those souls. “Oh yes. Came out of her champers today in a cloud of smoke and demanding apple juice, if you can believe it. Skipping through the halls and grinning like a lunatic. No one sees her for days, she doesn’t eat or sleep, something explodes in her room once every few hours, and now she’s happy as a clam. Singing in the hallways, even. The poor woman’s clearly lost her mind!” Sabrine resisted the urge to interject that the “poor woman” had been  _ grieving _ , and now she wasn’t. She couldn’t think of a ready excuse to explain Tissaia’s behavior besides announcing that one of her beloved students wasn’t quite as dead as anticipated, which would likely cause an uproar. She settled for nodding sympathetically, eyes lowered to hide the glimmer of amusement she was unable to repress.

“Where was she headed?” Maybe, if she could grab Tissaia, it would look like the Rectoress was brought out of her misery by the intervention of a close friend and not because she had decided that wandering the halls and singing like a giddy drunkard was an appropriate hobby.

“How should I know? You know how it is with the crazy ones.” Mara shot her a mischevious grin as she stacked more firewood by the hearth. Sabrina did not know “how it was,” but she did know Tissaia. She had  _ thought  _ the woman would wait in her room for her and Triss to appear, but that did not appear to be the case. She’d assume Tissaia was far too protective to leave Yennefer unattended, so Triss must already be watching her. If she were a Tissaia recently returned to her senses after a minor mental collapse, where would she go?

To the shock of no one, Tissaia was found in her office. Mara had been right about the singing, and perhaps the face-splitting smirk was unnerving for those who didn’t know her well, but in Sabrina’s expert opinion Tissaia appeared as sane as she’d ever seen her.

“Everybody thinks you’ve lost it.” It seemed best to get the pleasantries out of the way first.

“I’m aware. I think I caused a poor messenger to fall into a fountain.” Tissaia’s smirk grew wider, and Sabrina suppressed a chortle. That was only somewhat funny. And while Tissaia having an actual sense of humor when not insulting Stregobor was something she was eager to explore, there were priorities.

“You’ve had three pitchers of apple juice sent up to your room.” She tried to keep her tone neutral, but the words sounded quite accusing. She realized Tissaia was a Rectoress and had not been a court mage for many,  _ many  _ years, but she would’ve expected greater stealth. Nothing screams “I have an uninvited guest” than ordering enough drinks for half a tavern.

“I like apple juice.” She didn’t. Sabrina knew this. Tissaia knew she knew. She felt a headache building at her temples. “Triss has her, don’t worry. And if everyone thinks I’ve lost my grip on reality, they’re quite unlikely to question my actions until we...reveal my motivations.” Sabrina thought that actually, people thinking the Rectoress was madder than a room full of bards was a very  _ large  _ problem, but decided that she had better things to do with her energy than fight it. Tissaia always had a plan. Maybe this was just part of it.

“Might we move this upstairs, then? Someone else might want to speak with you about your...health.” Tissaia, to her relief, gathered up her mound of papers and made for the door. She was less pleased when half the pile was shoved into her arms. 

Even with their encumbered state, both women made excellent time swanning through Aretuza’s hallways. Sabrina had to admit that the crowds parting before them was quite funny, and joined Tissaia in beaming at all who stared at them. Heads held high, they marched forward, Tissaia still humming slightly. Sabrina couldn’t help giggling at the picture. When Tissaia caught her eye, instead of a more traditional disappointed glare, she started cackling as well until the two of them had to lean against the wall for the duration of their fit, gasping for breath. 

“Tissaia. I’m surprised but quite pleased to see you.” Both women froze in perfect unison, Tissaia moving off the wall to stand inches from the intruder. 

“Vilgefortz. How are you this fine morning?” Sabrina would have preferred she answer with “Go away.” While the man had been on their side in the battle of Sodden she didn’t know how he’d stand on the Yennefer issue.

“All the better, for seeing you.” He leaned forward to rest a hand on Tissia’s arm, and Sabrina winced. She was supposed to be getting the giddy woman out of the public eye before someone got suspicious, not watching her flirt with a potential threat.

“We were just leaving. We have to get this upstairs. Lots of Rectoress work, I’m sure you understand.” She grabbed Tissaia’s other arm, dragging her towards the stairs.

“Of course! I’d be happy to assist you if Sabrina has anything else she needs to do.” The intent was rather obvious. And she’d be delighted to tease Tissaia about having a man up to her room if it weren’t for what was in her room and the fact that technically Sabrina was an accomplice.

“She can’t!” 

“I can’t!”

“Definitely can’t! Because…”

“Because I’m ill!” Sabrina caught Tissai’s frenzied gaze. She cringed at the horrendous lie but supposed there were very few other excuses that would make sure he went and stayed away.

“Ill? Should I call a doctor?” Vilgefortz and his stupidly handsome face leaped into action, examining Tissaia for any sign of harm. Over his shoulder, she stared deep into Sabrina’s eyes, silently demanding intervention.

“Not that kind of ill!” His attention was once again on Sabrina, which she didn’t quite mind. “That is, she doesn’t need a doctor. Monthly woman things, I’m  _ sure  _ you know.”

“Even with the enchantments?” His brow furrowed, skeptical of their somewhat patchy cover story. 

“Yes! Even with the enchantments.” Tissaia arranged her face into something approaching discomfort, earlier merriment all but annihilated. “As you can imagine, I’d much rather be in bed. Alone. I do hope to see you some other time.” She did not wait for a response, grabbing Sabrina’s hand and fleeing up the stairs as Vilgefortz’s soft eyes grew dim with disappointment. Sabrina was almost sorry for the man, and she wondered what the hurry was until they turned a corner and out of sight, at which point Tissaia’s pained mask crumbled and she began laughing uproariously, doubled over with the force of her hilarity. “That. Was the worst lie,” she gasped out, almost incoherent, “I have ever told. How on earth did it  _ work?”  _ Sabrina assumed it had something to do with attraction leading to poor common sense but said nothing, content to allow Tissaia this moment of undignified behavior. 

This, of course, is a terrible idea given their location. A shadow fell over the pair, and Sabrina grits her teeth to prevent a groan of anguish from escaping.

“Tissaia. How good to see you up and about.” Damnit. Shit fuck  _ damnit!  _ Stregobor stood before them in all his horribly-mustached glory, brows furrowed in visible confusion at both Tissaia’s presence and good humor. “I must say, you look much better. I was afraid the council’s ruling on young Yennefer had caused you distress.” 

Distress. Distress? It caused her to shut herself away and blow her room to bits for four days and he calls it distress. Did he consider the Nilfgaarian war a “disagreement”? 

Tissaia’s face split in the most maniacal and malevolent excuse for a grin Sabrina had ever seen. Her eyes were gleaming like ice and were just as cold. An unexpected shiver crawled up her spine, eyes flitting about to check for available escape routes. “I assure you, I have fully accepted the council’s decision not to search for Yennefer.” Tissaia’s voice was far lower than usual, the growl of a hunting hound about to tear a rabbit limb from limb. “I will admit that attempting to find her at this point would be an unconscionable waste of recourses.” 

Because they didn’t need to look for her. Because they knew exactly where she was, which was  _ in Aretuza  _ and why wasn’t Tissaia just pretending to be  _ sad? _

“Good, good. I’m very glad we’ve come to an agreement after all the dramatics of this squabble in the South.” He began to march away as if fully convinced Tissaia had somehow been brought to heel by the exchange. Sabrina watched in open-mouthed shock. It was impossible for a mage to be  _ that stupid,  _ right? Tissaia watched him leave with a bemused smile, raising an eyebrow at Sabrina as if daring her to criticize her performance. She chose to snicker at the fleeing man’s cluelessness instead. 

“Well, I suppose we ought to go back to my room and not search for Yennefer, hmm?” Tissaia’s eyebrows crept into her hairline, dimples digging into her cheeks.

“I suppose so. It really is a shame that we have  _ no idea  _ where she is…”

Later, servants would pop into dozens of doorways crowing that the madness of the Rectoress was spreading and that really, it ought to be best to avoid her and all of her companions seen howling uproariously in the hallways. For once, Sabrina didn’t need to arrange for the rumor to be spread. The diversion was just too entertaining to be ignored, and if everyone was willing to let her get away with extreme lapses in manners when demanding a feast be brought up to Tissaia’s room that evening? She wouldn’t complain.

Dinner was delivered to Tissaia’s room and left outside the door by some servant terrified of catching whatever madness Tissaia was supposed to have come down with. Yennefer was beyond fine with that. She has no desire to deal with Tissaia going on about how if someone saw her it would be the end of all things, every time someone opens the damn door. If anything is going to end, it will be the pathetic existence of anyone who dares piss her off. Tissaia ought to have realized by now that the days of the council actually being a threat were long over. They’re old, and soft, and tend to follow whoever shouts the loudest and proposes the easiest path. 

She’s certain that given the option between “leave me alone” or “burn,” they’ll mutter and shake their balding heads and let her do anything she wants. It truly is a shame. If someone had found her and fixed her up before she managed to conjure the portal to Aretuza in an act of sheer desperation, she might have gone on her merry way. But Tissaia has dragged her back into  _ caring  _ about things again, and while it’s quite inconvenient not all of it had been terrible.

Waking up in the other woman’s arms had been rather lovely, for a random example. She takes a long drag of the herbs Triss saw fit to bring. They will be snatched from her hands soon enough, under the excuse that smoking is “bad for her recovery”. She would say they’re more likely trying to prevent her from doing anything rash while under the influence. And oh, does she have some rash ideas. They can wait, of course, not worth shattering the bubble of peace that has descended among the four of them gathered. Sabrina is standing in the middle of the room, Triss watching agape as she reenacts...something. Sabrina’s never been the best at impressions, but whomever she’s imitating thinks Tissaia’s gone crazy and the rest of them are soon to follow. It is rather funny and makes her wish she’d been around to see her favorite Rectoress toy with her least favorite old fool. 

“Triss. I thought you took that away from her?” The herbs are snatched away from her grasping hands by a Tissaia as beautiful as she is annoyed-looking. Yennefer pouts, reaching out towards her pilfered loot. Tissaia rolls her eyes and puts it on top of the highest shelf in the room, resting on a perfectly straightened stack of papers. Triss had been running herself ragged bringing Tissaia’s quarters to some degree of neatness earlier in the day, expending twice the energy to prevent a bored Yennefer from helping, which was stupid because she was almost fine at this point. All could agree it was nice to not be surrounded by broken glass and flames as they lay on the floor in various stages of intoxication. Sabrina had started to slur an hour ago, which made her far more alert than Triss, sprawled on the carpet and toying with a loose thread on the sleeve of her dress. Her glassy eyes dart between Sabrina’s incomprehensible performance and the ceiling.

Tissaia is, of course, almost completely sober, and Yennefer is quite unwilling to look away from her. She’s reclined in an armchair, contented smile only just visible, and Yennefer is sorely tempted to plop into the smaller woman’s lap and kiss it off. There’s a forgotten glass of wine on the end table near her armchair that she hasn’t touched in some time, probably for boring reasons like professionalism or “one of us should remain somewhat aware of her surroundings, dear.” That was disappointing. She’d rather liked meeting tipsy Tissaia before Sodden, and was rather hoping to do so again without someone else stealing her away.

“...And then Tissaia told Vilgefortz….” Yennefer tunes back into the conversation at the mention of what is surely excellent material for teasing the woman in question, though Sabrina looks as if she’s lost her train of thought. She blinks twice and springs to life like a statue reanimated. “That she couldn’t take him upstairs because she was  _ bleeding _ !” Sabrina teeters forwards in what looks like a guaranteed fall before righting herself, bleating with laughter. Yennefer chooses to assume the incident was more amusing at the time, but sticks on Vilgefortz attempting to invite himself into Tissaia’s bedroom. She finds herself more than a little irritated by the idea and pleased that her presence made it quite impossible.

“Good thing, too. Could you imagine if he met Triss during a cleaning frenzy? Our battle-hardened friend might leap out the window in fear.” The real threat, of course, would be her throwing him out of it herself. That is a mental image she quite enjoys. While she’s well aware of why that is, admitting to herself that she’s jealous of a man that has Tissaia’s attention is a distinct sort of unpleasant. Tissaia could do much better. For instance, by screwing someone in the room with her at this moment.

“I think I’ve hurled quite enough trinkets out that window of late. I’d hate to trouble the servants with something so large splattering on the courtyard.” Tissaia seems rather unconcerned by the idea of her current toy going splat, and that brings her some degree of satisfaction. Yennefer would happily clean the results of a hurled Vilgefortz herself simply for the knowledge that he was no longer a contender for Tissaia’s limited spare time and attention. However, she knows saying that might upset Tissaia, who is currently in very high spirits and thus rather perfect as she is.

“Are you sure? He seemed rather insistent on coming up here. Can’t think of a reason  _ why. _ ” Sabrina flings an arm over to an unamused Tissaia. “What would we even do with him if he shows up? Convince him Yen here is a hallucination?”

Hallucinations can’t kick someone’s ass. Yennefer shoves herself to her feet, taking a few unbalanced steps before making it to Sabrina’s side and throwing a careless arm over her narrow shoulders. “Don’t worry. If he gets in here there’s no need to bother with the window. We can just use him to clean up a bit more.” She beams, warming to her topic. “Sometimes the best thing a flower can do for us is to die, right?” Tissaia rests her face in her hands with a groan, probably sick of the group coming up with varied and sadistic ways to murder her latest fling, but Yennefer can see the specter of a smile creeping up her face. She’ll consider it a victory.

“Sit down, Yennefer. You’ll only injure yourself. In fact, have Sabrina join you. I have no desire to heal the results of drunken shenanigans.”

She ought to listen. However, winding Tissaia de Vries up is an art form and she is a master, so instead, she reaches for Triss, who takes her hand without asking why. Truly a wonderful friend, Triss is.

“I am the picture of health! See? My coordination is flawless.” She draws Triss forward and twirls her about the room, the two women weaving between pieces of furniture and avoiding collisions by the skin of their teeth in a deranged excuse for a tango. Tissaia is staring at the two of them, her mouth disappearing into a tight line and eyes imploring Yennefer to act like an adult. She grins and picks up speed, relishing the feeling of Tissaia’s eyes locked on her. She hasn’t felt quite this alive since the battle. However, all good things must come to an end, and Triss is the one to bring it about as her shoe gets stuck in the hem of her dress, sending her careening into Yennefer, who falls against Sabrina, who falls on her ass. 

“Are you three quite done?”

Triss nods from her spot on the floor, but Yennefer views the question as an opportunity to rile Tissaia up and takes it with both hands. “Certainly not. My dear Sabrina, may I have this dance?” Sabrina, after rolling her eyes so they all know she’s only humoring Yennefer’s madness, grabs her and together they rise to their feet, legs shaking like a newborn horse’s. Neither of them is willing to listen to the voice of reason, and therefore they will dance until Tissaia joins them in acting like children or they fall over, whichever comes first.

In a shock to no one, they end up falling. In a struggle over who will lead their impromptu waltz, Sabrina walks Yennefer into a chair. She trips, Sabrina struggling to catch her before she hits the floor. It ends up resembling what could be a horrible attempt at a dip. The pull of gravity ends up being too strong for their valiant efforts, and they once again collapse into a heap. 

This would usually be the point at which any balanced, sane individual decided to sit down and perhaps have a drink of water. Yennefer is not a balanced individual. Tissaia has stopped trying to contain her amusement at their antics, rising to her feet before beginning a slow, mocking round of applause. “Your grace and talent are astounding. Are you ready to behave yourself  _ now _ ?”

“I mean, I could.” She won’t. “It would be awfully rude to dance with all but one of the ladies present though, now wouldn’t it?” Especially when Tissaia is the one whose company she craves the most. She extends her hand as Sabrina and Triss trip over themselves agreeing with that Tissaia must dance with her for manner’s sake, sober enough to recognize an entertaining spectacle when they hear it. 

“And afterward, you will immediately clean yourselves up and go to bed?” They nod. It’s quite obvious Tissaia doesn’t believe them, but being able to shoo two out of three to their own rooms seems to be enough motivation to agree. She takes Yennefer’s proffered hand as if it could bite her, and Yennefer yanks her forward to sling an arm around her waist. The women on the floor cheer and they’re off. Tissaia keeps them far from any obstacles, preventing yet another collapse and unintentionally prolonging the entire experience. Yennefer beams down at her before spinning her around, pulling the unbalanced woman flush against her. It’s rather lovely, having Tissaia’s undivided attention. The contact is also quite nice. She’s so delicate-looking in Yennefer’s arms. She can feel the heat of Tissaia’s skin against her own, and her pupils have blown wide in the minute they’ve been whirling uncontrollably around the room. They’ve stopped moving, but it seems that time is moving irregularly in this single moment, neither of them springing apart. Tissaia’s hand remains in hers, body inches away. It’s silent but for the sound of their breathing, and it takes far more of Yennefer’s limited willpower than she’d like not to jerk the woman into a kiss.

It’s almost as if that errant thought breaks the spell. Tissaia steps backward, their forgotten audience applauds, and they’re back to being on opposite sides of the same room with Tissaia refusing to make eye contact. “Well, then. I suppose it’s time we  _ all _ slept it off.” The remark is targeted towards Sabrina and Triss, who are quick to slink out of the room and away from the tension that seems to have taken hold of it. The door clicks shut and Tissaia begins preparing for bed in dead silence. Yennefer is forced to take the hint, not wanting to cause the woman to spring back further than she already has, sneaking glances at Tissaia as she lets her hair down and admiring the way it falls against her neck. This time it’s Tissaia who climbs into bed first, crawling as far away from Yennefer as the mattress will allow. That’s cute. As Yennefer recalls, she woke up this morning with Tissaia’s head on her chest and arms clinging to her for dear life. She can put as many pointless boundaries between the two of them as she likes, but Yennefer would bet they’ll all be smashed into pieces by the time they wake up. There’s no other way she’d want it, really, and that suggests she ought to  _ do something  _ about this situation before she’s nudged away from Aretuza “for her own safety” by a well-meaning Rectoress. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer announces her arrival in a dramatic fashion, and Tissaia attempts to ignore the fact that she has hormones.

Tissaia wakes with her head on Yennefer’s shoulder, and the other woman’s hand somewhere it should not be. Her other arm is thrown over her face as if the sun had personally offended her. Knowing Yennefer’s questionable sleeping habits, that may very well be the case. Tissaia eases herself out of the other woman’s embrace, missing the shared heat but eager to remove herself from the room before having to deal with the fallout of her current sleeping arrangements. 

This plan is upended near the very start, Yennfer’s arm moving from her backside to grip tight around her waist, limiting her ability to escape without waking the nuisance in her bed. The other arm follows its twin, the loss of her bedmate a larger annoyance to Yennefer than the probing rays of light from the window. Tissaia is stuck halfway sitting, halfway lying down, Yennefer wound around her like an octopus. 

A less dignified woman might have just smacked her in the face with a pillow and been done with it. Instead, Tissaia decides discretion is the better part of valor and she ought to avoid dealing with whatever this is at all costs, including being late to what will no doubt be the most uncomfortable council meeting of her life. Leading a very unsanctioned army into battle does tend to have consequences. Add in the rumors of her “insanity” and no doubt many would have some rather irritating questions as to her current ability to hold her position.

Her fingers dig into the top of the headboard and she pulls, the arms around her waist sliding down her thighs before tightening again around her knees, as if Yennefer, even sleeping, can sense her attempts to do something important and is intent on thwarting her. 

She is now standing on top of her own bed, an insolent ex-student with a death grip on her legs. On anyone else, it would seem childish and borderline infuriating, but here and now it’s almost...sweet? Using the headboard as a support, she eases a leg up and away from Yennefer’s death grip. The sleeping woman frowns, stirring for a worrying amount of time before resettling. Tissaia grins in determination, victory close at hand. She sets her liberated foot down and prepares to free the other when the bed lets out a very loud, unfortunate creak.

Like the whistle of flying arrows, the noise seems to alert Yennefer that all is not right. She lets out a large, somewhat indecent groan before rolling over onto her stomach and jamming a pillow over her head. Tissaia takes the opportunity to all but leap from the bed before Yennefer decides to grab her again, creeping across the floor like a burglar as she whirls through her morning routine, dashing out the door while doing the last laces on her dress. She is quite behind schedule, but lateness is for lesser women.

Portaling into the council chambers is frowned upon as rude and uncouth. Tissaia, knowing this, makes sure to arrive a scant two inches from the doors, straightening her shoulders before striding inside as if nothing of note is occurring. No fugitive in her bedchamber, no questionable mental state, and above all no unsanctioned military action. She is serenity incarnate.

She has also arrived ten seconds before nine, making her early on a technicality.

Her ability to focus on the positive of her situation lasts an impressive ten minutes and fifty-two seconds before the urge to strangle Stregobor begins to become unbearable. There are many, many synonyms for the word “insane,” and it feels as though the doddering toad has employed each and every one of them while attempting to describe the ramifications of Tissaia’s interference at Sodden. If only he knew the insanity she was currently engaged in several floors up. It’s the only thing aiding her in remaining composed instead of conjuring him a portal several miles out to sea and hoping for the best.

She’s debating whether her rebuttal will come in the form of a reference to his exile in Blaviken or insult to his questionable leadership practices when both her train of thought and Stregobor’s tirade are cut off without warning.

_ Bang! _

Yennefer is either unaware of proper council etiquette or she doesn’t give a rat’s arse about it, and Tissaia is assuming the latter because she steps out of a portal conjured in the middle of the hall like she owns the place. She’s dressed in something she must have had help procuring, as there is nothing like it in Tissaia’s closet. It’s her usual stark color scheme because of course it is, and of course it shows off a good half of her chest because this is Yennefer and what would she be without her need to make a scene?

“Isn’t she supposed to be dead?” In the silent room, the words echo like a rumble of thunder right before lightning obliterates something. Tissaia is steeling herself for the inevitable explosion that will come from Yennefer’s dramatic entrance. There is a fire in her gaze as she surveys the room and a far too mischievous grin on her face for Tissaia not to worry about whether or not the hall will remain standing in the aftermath of whatever Yennefer has planned. If she has a plan. Is this the plan? 

She is not the only one aware of how much damage an irate Yennefer could cause. Stregobor, once surrounded by ardent supporters, stands abandoned and quivering at the other side of the table. If she is worried, he is terrified, and wisely so.

“I fear rumors regarding my death were  _ greatly  _ exaggerated.” Yennefer’s honeyed voice drips with self-satisfaction. She struts to the head of the table, mane of hair flowing behind her, knowing they’ll wait as long as it takes her to arrive. Tissaia allows herself a smile at the woman’s antics. They are quite well-timed, and very entertaining when she’s not the one under fire for them.

She’s reminded that if Yennefer has no plan, if the other mages aren’t as cowed by her power as they should be, she very well might be under fire for Yennefer’s continued possession of a pulse. Tissaia makes the conscious decision to avoid that idle thought and enjoy the show. There are so few things worth watching after so many centuries of life, but this is one of them.

“Thanks to the action of members of this council, I’ve recovered from my...ordeal at Sodden. I’m more than prepared to rejoin the war effort.” She graces them with a shark’s smile, all glittering promises of malevolence. There’s a murmur of unrest among the assembled sheep, but none are willing to bleat louder than the others and catch the wolf’s attention. Such a shame, that. A  _ terrible  _ shame. 

For them, anyway. Letting Yennefer begin to unfold whatever plot she’s concocted instead of cutting her off at the start will only make it more difficult to shut her down.

Stregobor, showing his few glimmers of intelligence in the desperate urge to avoid conflict, does what he does best. Attempts to patronize those who could vaporize him with a thought.

“The council which has saved you,” and here he looks truly puzzled, but unwilling to contradict a statement that  _ seems  _ to present him in a better light, “Has ruled to remove itself from such pedestrian matters as this war.” The “as we told you before you marched off to fight it” towards Tissaia remains unsaid but acknowledged by all, and she has to once again wonder if her trust in Yennefer isn’t misplaced. Sabrina and Triss at her shoulders, there to bolster her in the face of Stregobor’s inquiry, appear equally clueless. Triss’s freckles stand out in sharp relief on her paling face, Sabrina’s lips pressed together so tightly they’ve gone white. They won’t interfere without her signal, and she’s unsure if she should give it.

Yennefer once again surprises them all by throwing her head back in gleeful laughter. “I meant the  _ competent  _ portion of the council. You know, the portion that isn’t cowering in a tower while the world falls apart.” Well, there it was, a gauntlet all but thrown in Stregobor’s face. While she wasn’t positive what Yennefer’s endgame was, she could surmise it was about to make quite a lot of people furious. “We took out an army. Were you aware? You have spent a lot of time with your head in the sand lately.”

Stregobor is turning a delightful shade of purple and begins to stammer about casualties and due process, instead of calling for guards. In the face of the woman that burned a Nilfgaardian horde to the ground, neither action would do much good, but at least the second one would have perhaps stopped her from talking.

“You’ve all done jack shit lately, actually. I can’t help but think we’re due for a change in leadership. One that involves someone who can actually do things.” And there it was. An uproar begins of shaking fists and nominations hurriedly thrown forward in equal measure, and then Yennefer’s hand is halfway to her chest in the motion to summon a stream of flames. The silence falls in an instant, far more deafening than the preceding cacophony. Even Tissaia says nothing, her own heartbeat the only sound to reach her ears. She’d never expected Yennefer to pursue power in Aretuza, isn’t quite sure what she thinks of it. She certainly doesn’t appear to be leaving any time soon, not after this. Tissaia can’t quite bring herself to be anything other than delighted.

“I’d like to nominate Tissaia de Vries for head of the brotherhood of mages. Does anyone have any objections?” Yes. A score of them do, and she could write down a list of each of them with their reasons, but with Yennefer of Vengerberg standing before them, each protest is swallowed and goes unspoken. It’s a reminder of just how much she’s capable of. Of what she could do, if she decided she felt like it. “Wonderful. That passes, then.”

Tissaia is aware of two things. Once, Sabrina has nudged her towards the head of the table where Yennefer stands waiting, and her feet are taking her there of their own accord. Two, dozens of eyes prick her skin, in envy or anger or simply searching for weaknesses. She finds she doesn’t give a damn about the second. They won’t find any. She’s played this game for far too long, made it too far up the ladder and survived to have any that are usable.

She turns to face her new dominion, unable to smother the heat of pride in her chest. Yennefer is everything she thought possible and more, daring anyone to say something as she stands at Tissaia’s side. It’s a rather wonderful feeling, having the faith of someone who could burn the world if she so chose.

“I am honored to accept this position.” There was never any other option, not with a war going on and Yennefer shoving it into her lap, but the creeping vines of ambition locked around her heart make it impossible not to enjoy herself and perhaps flaunt her enviable new status, just a bit.

“Oh good. In that case, I’ll be sticking around. I’m certain this transition will go smoothly, and we can all get back to the war that seems to be a thing now.” Tissaia resists the urge to roll her eyes. There is a difference between rubbing a pinch of salt into a wound and dumping on an ocean’s worth, and Yennefer has chosen the latter. She ignores the little thrill of excitement fluttering in her stomach as Yennefer confirms her intent to remain at Aretuza in front of half the brotherhood’s sorcerers. It wouldn’t stop her if she decided to leave on a whim, but Tissaia chooses to remain optimistic.

“Well then. On that note, I believe we ought to have a revote on the issue of interference in the Nilfgaard situation?”

Tissaia is always willing to admit when she is wrong, if not out loud. In this case, she was very much mistaken. This is not anywhere near the worst council meeting she’s been to. That may have something to do with the fact that she could announce walking is forbidden and her unwilling subjects would nevertheless begin hopping on one foot from room to room without any objection. Having the endorsement of the most powerful person in the room does tend to have that effect.

The aforementioned powerful person stays by her side as she exits, all but glued to her hip. She can hear disgruntled muttering from the council and concerned whispers from every gossiping servant she passes, no doubt still uninformed about the shift in power. She predicts they’ll fall silent by nightfall. 

Yennefer, on the other hand, will grow insufferable. She can  _ sense  _ some smug comment or another forming on the other woman’s tongue, and while she’s quite proud of her, Tissaia is falling fast from the world’s most spectacular adrenaline high, face-first into the knowledge that she is now in charge of the band of imbeciles Stregobor has cultivated over the years. In other words, she is tired, she is somewhat in shock, and she is far too irritable for any of this.

“You could have warned me you’d be making a surprise appearance. I’m beginning to sense an unfortunate pattern. First the ball, now this. It’s almost as if you enjoy causing me mental upheaval.” She keeps her tone light, wary of igniting the powder keg that is Yennefer. She’s not angry, per se, just tired of shocks. There’s been so  _ many  _ over the last few days.

Yennefer halts her footsteps, and Tissaia misses colliding with her by inches. She stiffens. It would in no way be suitable for her to go flying down a staircase moments after her promotion.

“What, would you like me to take off again?”

“Absolutely not!” That is not even close to what she said, and she’s quite unsure how Yennefer inferred that in her desire for fewer potential heart attacks she’d like the whirling bundle of chaos that is Yennefer to exit her life-On second thought, that could make complete sense. Right, then. “I have no desire for you to leave Aretuza unless you suddenly yearn to flee in search of some other adventure.” And even then, she’d prefer Yennefer to stay put. 

“That’s good, then. I suppose it’s settled. I’ll just stick around until you’re tired of me.” The other woman beams, all but glowing as she grabs Tissaia’s hand and restarts their journey down the hall. It’s warm and soft in hers, and while the display of affection is uncharacteristic and borderline inappropriate for a public hallway, she wants Yennefer positive that her presence is quite welcome, and she makes no move to let go. “And really, by the looks of things I should just stay at your side day and night. Lots of angry people out there.”

“I beg your pardon?” Once again, the leap of logic is unclear. She’s aware of the precariousness of her position, of course, but how Yennefer got from that to declaring herself Tissaia’s bodyguard she’s somewhat unsure.

“Oh, you can beg for a lot of things.” 

Tissaia smothers a choked noise from the back of her throat. She will not be begging Yennefer for anything, and how she even got there from her current topic-She ceases her train of thought. Not important at the moment. “I assure you, I am capable of protecting myself.” And Yennefer at her side at all times may very well send her diving into an early grave from sheer exasperation, she wants to add. 

“Of course you are,” Yennefer says, measured and placating, how you would speak to a child insisting it’s capable of joining a war. “However, you’re one person. It can’t hurt to have someone watching your back.” Unless that person takes great joy in causing her intense confusion. The little dancing display of the night before should be enough to convince anyone that overexposure to Yennefer of Vengerberg is harmful to one’s health and decorum.

“Fine.” It’s out of her mouth before she can process that she had  _ just  _ come to the conclusion it was  _ not  _ fine. However, mutiny is brewing, any fool could see it after Yennefer’s little...display, and she’d like to keep her new position long enough to fix things a bit, so compromises will have to be made. 

“Oh, wonderful. I’m sure Vilgefortz would have volunteered, but I think we both know I’m the better option. He might get himself skewered showing off for you.” Yennefer is not wrong, but encouraging her at this point would only increase the frequency of poor behavior. 

Their footsteps echo over the centuries-old stone before she pivots one way and Yennefer attempts to drag her in the other. There’s a moment of uncertain silence before Yennefer drops Tissaia’s hand and places her own at Tissaia’s waist before she has time to miss the contact, guiding her away from the hall to her office. 

She’s not aware she’s been blindly following the other woman for several moments, somewhat distracted by the unfamiliar shiver up her spine where Yennefer is touching her. “I believe my guard is already leading me astray.” The urge to bait Yennefer is beyond irresistible. She seems unbothered, pulling Tissaia marginally closer with a noncommittal sound.

“I’m looking after your health. You don’t eat enough, and as your guard, it’s my responsibility to protect you from yourself.” Tissaia is certain that feeding her is not anyone’s responsibility but her own, although she has been doing a subpar job of late. The concern for her well-being is...nice, but still not something that should continue. Taking care of her is not Yennefer’s job. 

“Should I assume this is because you require more apple juice?” 

“Apple juice and your company, of course.” Their walk becomes a march as Yennefer shoves her forward, and Tissaia will blame the slight flush on her cheeks as the inevitable result of increasing their pace. Because that is the only logical cause. Exertion, and nothing more.

The kitchen doors slam open before them, Yennefer giving her a mocking bow before ushering her inside. “Our head mage needs food! And more apple juice.”

The assembled staff spring to life in a haze of shouting and flying ingredients. Yennefer flits about, using magic to snag the occasional piece of meat or tomato as the cooks rush to throw together enough food to get them out of the kitchen and allow them to return to their business. Tissaia almost feels bad for interrupting the well-oiled machine that is dinner preparations but would loathe to deprive herself of an overly-energized Yennefer, flushed and surrounded by her wild mane of hair, shouting japes and orders to the scampering mass before them. She’s enjoying herself far too much for Tissaia to stop the spectacle. 

They’re all but chased out once a basket of food is hurled into Yennefer’s waiting arms. The slam of the door is still reverberating in the hall as Yennefer’s arm once again slips around her midsection, leading her wherever Yennefer’s impractical boots lead them. 

“Well, then. News of my...promotion will be spreading quickly.” She’s a bit surprised Yennefer hasn’t hoisted a banner from the rooftops yet, with how she seems to have taken it upon her shoulders to spread the news.

“And of your companionship. Be happy, it means people will be so scared of me they won’t bother you as much. Just you, me, Sabrina and Triss.” She refrains from mentioning that when someone is bothering her, it is always one of the last three people mentioned.  _ Always.  _ But if news of Yennefer’s second hiring decision of the day spreads like the wildfire she can summon, any assassination attempts brewing may very well be stalled as her enemies attempt to account for the newest complication. It’s enough to summon an icy smile to her face.

Their destination ends up being one of the balconies tucked away and forgotten by the citadel’s original builders, rough brown stone warmed by the afternoon sun. Yennefer drops their pilfered meal on a table she doesn’t remember seeing the last time she was here, and pulls out a chair, motioning for Tissaia to sit there. It’s an overdramatic motion, fitting the apparent theme of the day rather well, and she has to wonder just how much of their activities have been planned by Yennefer in advance. 

The harried servants, in their rush to get rid of the surprise visitors as quickly as possible, have shoved a loaf of bread, an entire chicken, and some apples into the basket and called it a day. There is no silverware. She finds herself leaning back in her chair and watching the clouds go by, apple in her hand when Yennefer’s foot skirts up to her calf and sets off a choked squeal. She glares at the woman across from her, whose face is the utter picture of innocence. 

**You’re quite beautiful when you blush.**

“I am not blushing, and telepathy ought to be reserved for the battlefield, not...whatever this is.”

“I didn’t  _ mean  _ to use telepathy, and yes, you are.” The innocence of before has been replaced by a rakish grin, the purple of Yennefer’s irises darkening closer to indigo. 

“You didn’t mean to use telepathy. Right.”

**Shit. Can she hear my thoughts?**

Tissaia squares her shoulders and leans forward, looking for any possible motive for this new complication.

**That would, of course, be absolutely terrible. Oh** **_no_ ** **!**

Any chance Yennefer had of Tissaia believing her false show of concern is shattered by her snickering. She’s made no effort to hide her amusement at the situation, and whatever her goal may be, Tissaia is quite stumped, which she hates more than almost anything.

“You are being ridiculous.” It is not endearing at all. She swears it isn’t.

“I promise it’s accidental! It must be the aftermath of Sodden. Maybe my magic just isn’t working properly.” Not working properly would be the understatement of the year if Tissaia believed that Yennefer was truly experiencing uncontrollable telepathy, but somehow she doubted that was the case.

**Your hair looks gorgeous in this light, by the way.**

“Whatever game you’re playing, I suggest you end it. This will only end poorly.” For Tissaia, anyway. The words come out far breathier than she would have liked. She was aiming for stern and authoritative, not flattered and questioning.

**Want to bet on it?**

She does not. There are not many people she is unwilling to bet against, but Yennefer is beyond the shadow of a doubt one of them. 

“I have work to do. A great deal of it, with this surprise change in rank.” She stands up, intending to flee for the perceived safety of her office and a teetering stack of war reports almost taller than she is. 

“Of course. I’ll escort you. Someone has to make sure no one tries to break in, after all.” Fine. This is fine. She will walk with Yennefer, ignoring the places that they touch, and she will barricade herself inside her office until everything makes some form of sense.

Her heart is still threatening to burst through her ribs as they all but race through the hall, continuing long after the door closes, Yennefer left leaning against a wall. With any luck, her minimal attention span will burn through and she’ll find someone else to toy with. Anyone else. Tissaia picks up the top report in the stack, the papers brought only this morning and lacking any sort of filing system. The beginning seems a good place to start as any.

**I wish I’d waited to interrupt today till you started insulting Stregobor again. That’s always hysterical.**

Well, she’d gotten her wish. Yennefer had gotten bored of leaning against a wall in silence and had decided to bother her. Tissaia redoubled her focus on the paper in front of her, groaning as she realized the date was from before the invasion of Cintra. Who knew how many of these were useless?

**Am I allowed to toss Vilgerfortz down a set of stairs?**

She’s tempted to reply to that one if only to forbid it but decides that engaging Yennefer would be counterproductive. She picks up a new paper. A complaint to the council about subpar potions. Because of course that belongs in the same pile as a war report. 

The next document is a financial statement for the kitchens, and the one after it an inventory of the wine cellar. Budget reports. A bill for the repair of the roof. Court assignments. She drops her head into her hands. This has to have been someone’s “deal with it later” pile. And now it’s later, and she’s ready to have some very harsh words with whoever compiled this useless mound. 

**I love that dress on you.**

The thought comes from nowhere and breaks whatever thread of focus she had left. She lets the meandering account of Skelligan troop movements flutter to the floor. It’s several weeks out of date, but at least it’s not more budgeting. 

**I’d love to see you out of it more.**

This time, she allows herself to fall against the desk. It’s been hours and she’s tired, and it seems as though outside Yennefer has decided to see how far she’ll need to go before getting a response. Out the window, the sun is disappearing rapidly, and she realizes she’s just left the woman to “stand guard” for several hours. No wonder she’s chosen to misbehave.

Her legs feel numb as she hauls herself out of her chair. The door slams against the wall as she exits, but she can’t bring herself to care. Yennefer is in the exact same position as when she left, peeling herself off the wall with a grace that’s almost sinful and attaching herself to Tissaia’s side as if this were expected and normal behavior. They walk, and while this time she knows they’re on their way to Sabrina’s chambers for dinner her thoughts are in too much turmoil to dream of paying attention, trusting Yennefer to guide her.

If she assumed dinner would be less of an exercise in insanity, she was mistaken. That seems to be happening far more than she is comfortable with in the past few days. She’s seated next to Yennefer, Sabrina across from her talking about someone she’s not sure she’s ever heard of. Yennefer’s thumb is rubbing circles on her knee in what would be mistaken for a reassuring or comforting gesture if not for her thoughts shoved into Tissaia’s head. They have not strayed from Yennefer’s appreciation for her appearance for quite some time after leaving the office. She does her duty to the conversation, nodding at intervals and hoping she’s making the right faces because she is fully occupied with not demanding an explanation from her ludicrously affectionate guard.

**You really need to learn to relax.**

She almost scoffs at that before remembering that she’d need to come up with a reason for doing so for those not prancing around in her head.

**I could help you if you’d like.**

She faces straight ahead, refusing to even blink. She’s not hearing this. She’s not hearing this, and-

And she is not hearing Sabrina, whose fingers snap in front of her face. 

“Are you alright? You’ve gone all…” Sabrina waves a hand in front of her face in a strange pantomime that Tissaia thinks is supposed to represent a glassy-eyed stupor, but can’t quite be certain. Sabrina has no talent for charades.

**I could bend you over this table right now and I guarantee you’d be all better after.**

Her fist slams into the table as her face goes what she’s certain is an alarming shade of scarlet. Is this what going mad feels like? If she’s not there now, she’s well on the way. 

“I bet she’s thinking about Vilgefortz. You and Sabrina shouldn’t have gotten rid of him!” Yennefer’s hand becomes a vice on her leg. Maybe her little spitfire doesn’t like that little thought. Interesting.

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s thinking about how to punish whoever was last in charge of handling our receipts.” Sabrina isn’t wrong. Whoever that person was, they deserve to be written up for gross incompetence, but it’s not near the top of the list of things bothering her.

**How do you think they’d react if they knew what was** **_really_ ** **on your mind?**

Probably with a great deal of girlish screeching. She is not planning on filling them in on the situation, and if Yennefer wants that arm to remain attached to the rest of her she’ll keep their little secret to herself. Tissaia may turn her into an eel for a few hours anyway, but at least permanent damage would be avoided. 

“Maybe she’s hidden someone else in her room!” Triss and Sabrina are having a distressing amount of fun with this, and she can feel a round of deranged giggling coming on. She wants to be delighted her girls have the opportunity to act like children in the midst of a war, but her patience is thinning like Stregobor’s hairline and she’s far too flustered for games.

“Ooh! Who else isn’t she allowed to have around? Maybe the missing princess is in her wardrobe!” This time Tissaia does scoff at their antics. The lion cub of Cintra popping up in her wardrobe is nowhere near the most bizarre thing that could happen today. Not even close.

“I assure you, there is no one in my room but me. Speaking of which, now that Yennefer is no longer a fugitive we should really see about finding her a room of her own.” If only so that Tissaia stops waking up in compromising positions. Yennefer has gotten inside her head with far too little effort and she needs a break to regroup and strategize. “If anyone needs me, I will be resting. I do feel peculiar.” Tissaia dodges past the doorway that came at her from nowhere, waving to the girls in an attempt to scrape her dignity off the floor. She all but races to her bedroom, checking the locks three times before she’s satisfied. Unless Yennefer wants to portal in, there will be no more surprises for tonight.

She’s wrong. Of course, she is. It takes all of ten minutes in her cold, empty bed for Yennefer to continue prodding at whatever mental defenses she may still have standing. Tissaia would give her unconditional surrender if she had any idea what the other woman  _ wanted _ , but of course, that would be too simple.

**Kicking me out wasn’t very nice.**

Tissaia wants to scream. Tormenting someone for hours in front of their close friends isn’t particularly nice either, to the best of her knowledge.

**Not very nice, but really fucking sexy.**

Tissaia forgets how to breathe. She can’t exactly  _ see _ what Yennefer is doing, but somehow she  _ knows  _ because there is no way she’d imagine such a scenario herself _.  _ She can all but sense Yennefer’s amusement at the situation she’s created, and it is driving Tissaia beyond mad. If she’s not hallucinating this whole thing. 

**Whatever you’re doing right now “isn’t very nice.” Stop at once.**

Replying is the worst possible choice if Tissaia wants the lurid imagery flashing through her brain to stop, but the other option presented to her is to grit her teeth and allow Yennefer to continue talking. And showing Tissaia parts of her she shouldn’t see. And that is not acceptable. She can feel what she refuses to identify as arousal pooling in her belly and presses her legs tightly together in an attempt to soothe the ache between them. It isn’t helping. Damn Yennefer. This situation is all her fault.

**Oh, I think it’s rather fantastic, actually. I’ll stop when I’m finished.**

She does not want to think of Yennefer...finishing. At all. She also doesn’t want the intense awareness of Yennefer’s hands between her own thighs flashing in her mind’s eye, but it’s impossible to focus on anything else. The heat that’s started to fill the room since the beginning of this exchange would suggest she’s lying about her disinterest, even to herself, but she will not admit that she’s almost tempted to copy the woman at the end of her mental tether.

**Yennefer. Please. Just let me sleep.**

She does not want to sleep. She wants to grab the little brat by her hair and-No. She does not want anything to do with Yennefer. Because that would be letting her win, and she will never, ever do that.

**I love it when you beg. Goodnight, Tissaia!**

Both Yennefer’s voice and the unbearable awareness of every movement of her fingers fades from the back of her head. She stares up at the ceiling and lets out a strangled bellow of incoherent rage, furious that somehow Yennefer is managing to fluster her when halfway across the citadel. Tissaia is going to murder her. With her bare hands. The moment she wakes up. 

Tissaia buries her face in her pillow, still seething, and tries to ignore the pulsing between her thighs. When sleep finally comes, she falls into it with the scent of lilac and gooseberries in her nose and a vague sense of peace.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Yennefer's opinion, things have begun to get slightly out of hand.
> 
> In anyone else's opinion, they've flown off the rails on the crazy train days ago.

**THE NILFGAARDIAN TROOPS ARE APPROACHING SODDEN HILL AT AN ALARMING RATE. IT APPEARS AS THOUGH THEY WILL CROSS UNCONTESTED. IN ADDITION-**

Yennefer stares up at the ceiling and resists the urge to groan. Tissaia was wonderful. She adored the woman, really, but it was  _ too early.  _ Unless she’d decided that she wanted Yennefer to screw her senseless and couldn’t wait till a more acceptable hour, in which case all was forgiven.

In any case, screaming old troop movements inside of her head was beyond rude and uncalled for. She couldn’t help feeling smug that she’d gotten Tissaia to stoop to her level. It was a sign that she’d gotten under her skin, and that somewhere deep down Tissaia de Vries was a normal, red-blooded human with things like feelings.

**Aw, did you miss me so much you needed to wake me up?**

**We need to talk.**

Of course, Tissaia would choose to be vague as fuck. Talk about the war? Talk about the fact that they’d staged a fantastic coup d’etat yesterday? Talk about the fact that if Tissaia didn’t get laid soon she was probably going to explode?

Yennefer crawled out of bed, wishing it a fond farewell, before flapping her hand in some semblance of the gesture to summon a portal. She ambled into Tissaia’s rooms, pulling her nightgown a bit lower than it normally sat on her chest as she entered. Nothing wrong with showing off a bit, after all.

“What are you  _ doing  _ here?” Tissaia sat on her bed, covers pulled up over her body as if it wasn’t something Yennefer had already seen during their time living in the same damn room. She was so  _ cute. _

“You said we needed to talk?” Technically, whatever conversation needed to occur could have been telepathic, but where was the fun in that? 

“I meant  _ later _ .”

“Well, then you should have said that.” Yennefer was likely to misinterpret things in a way that she found entertaining anyway, but at least then Tissaia could have blamed it fully on her. 

Tissaia stares upwards as if begging some invisible force for the strength not to strangle Yennefer. She’d let the woman try, of course, it could even be fun, but that would require losing her precious composure and Tissaia would probably rather die.

“Your...behavior last night was beyond unacceptable. The flirting needs to stop, and I have no idea how you were influencing my dreams but that was both immoral and wildly perverted. See a doctor. And I cannot-”

Yennefer can’t believe her luck, a grin spreading across her face like syrup.

“What do you mean? I didn’t do anything to your dreams.” 

She’s never seen a person go from righteous indignation to sheer terror so fast in her life. Tissaia is agog, blinking up at Yennefer as if maybe she’ll announce that she was just kidding, and of course, she’d resorted to mind control in order to get inside Tissaia’s brilliant head. Yennefer had never been so tempted to engage in a victory dance. “If anyone needs to see a doctor, it’s you. Although it might be  _ far  _ more enjoyable for both of us for you to just tell me all about it, and-”

“That’s enough.” This is the greatest day of her life. Tissaia, hair falling over her shoulders, blush spreading rapidly from her face to the rest of her, blankets pooling around her waist as she stares up at Yennefer. This is probably what she looks like after someone’s kissed her senseless, and Yennefer likes it very much.

“Really? Because you mentioned you had some things you wanted to talk about, and now I agree. We really ought to talk about what you imagined me doing to you last night.”

Tissaia is frozen. She’s not responding, not even to deny everything and then throw Yennefer out, which is what she’d expected. This goes on for several moments until Yennefer is close to fetching Triss to make sure nothing is wrong with her.

“I am in no way enjoying whatever game you’re playing here.” Yennefer frowns. She’d expected shouting and slamming doors and rage because she’ll admit she went too far last night, but this is none of those things. Tissaia’s voice is a near whisper, and she sounds beyond exhausted.

“It’s not a game.” That’s the only thing Yennefer can think of. Convincing Tissaia that she has no interest in toying with her. “Some time ago, you asked me what I wanted, and I told you everything. I’m sure you remember.” Tissaia nods. “Good. Because the thing is, I’m standing in front of it. I want  _ you,  _ and the rest of the world can go hang. And the more time goes by, the more I’m convinced you don’t hate the idea.” 

Yennefer crosses over to Tissaia’s fortress of blankets and sits down next to her. She looms over the shorter woman, who is staring at her like eventually, some form of instructions will scrawl across her face. It’s a somewhat off putting response to what is essentially a confession of love, but this is Tissaia. She didn’t expect crying and kisses.

“And what is your explanation for the...suggestions of last night?” Yennefer fights valiantly in the battle against her own laughter but is overtaken in moments. Of course, that’s what Tissaia has chosen to focus on. Not “You’re everything to me,” but “Last night I mentioned I want to bend you over a table and fuck your brains out.” Of course.

“I said I wanted  _ everything _ , didn’t I? I meant it.” It takes a moment for the innuendo to sink in, and then Tissaia takes the thoughtful, mature option of smacking her in the face with a pillow.

Which is at least better than tossing her out the window. She’s bright red and won’t meet Yennefer’s eyes, and she has to be a bit pleased with herself for rendering Tissaia speechless. To the best of her knowledge, that’s never happened. 

Tissaia still won’t look at her when she decides to speak again, which hurts more than Yennefer wants to admit. “Because I am so happy to have you back, I will choose to ignore this...childish lunacy.” That almost hurts more. She’s made some questionable choices, but this isn’t one of them, and she is far from being a  _ child  _ thank you very much. “Due to my surprise change in rank, I have an enormous backlog of work. Since you found dealing with that quite boring yesterday, I would request you entertain yourself until dinner.”

“Try not to incinerate the report pile.” She understands, on a base level, Tissaia’s need to run off and process everything. She will happily give her the space to do so. But that doesn’t make the whole situation any less frustrating.

Of all the possible responses she’d expected, and she’d hallucinated this scene quite a few times in the aftermath of Sodden, “I’m happy to see you but falling for me is insane” was not one of them. And she has no idea what the fuck to do now.

Yennefer approaches Tissaia’s office like she expects it to explode. She’s carrying a basket of food, this one checked and double-checked before leaving the kitchens to their own devices. She will bring the food to Tissaia and leave the second she’s sure the other woman will actually eat. Yennefer worries about her, after hearing Triss go on and on about how their beloved Rectoress hadn’t touched anything edible between Sodden and Yennefer’s reappearance. So yes. Food. No one can live on magic alone, after all.

She knocks on the door but receives no response. “Tissaia?” She’ll avoid telepathic communication for now, if only to prevent Tissaia from shutting down again. Even if it was beyond precious. “Tissaia? Respond if I’m not allowed to break this door down.”

Nothing. Well, she’d warned her.

The door is unlocked, which is just bizarre. And unsafe. “If you don’t want me guarding you all the time, you ought to be more...careful?” The door swings open and Yennefer realizes she’s addressing an empty office. Papers are everywhere as if a very frustrated person had simply decided to hurl them all up in the air and watch them fall to the floor in narcissistic glee. Which did not seem like something Tissaia would do.

She exits the office, leaving the food on Tissaia’s desk in case she returns. Leaving so suddenly and with such a mess isn’t like her, and Yennefer is a bit worried.

Down the hallway, a traumatized looking man walks as quickly as he can. Yennefer makes an educated guess that if she were searching for something going horribly wrong, she should go wherever he just came from. Now.

**Tissaia? Where are you?**

It’s a crapshoot as to whether she’ll respond, but she’d rather deal with an angry Tissaia than one in danger.

**I’m in the plant room! With the girls! Come join us!**

If she weren’t in the other woman’s head, she’d think that wasn’t Tissaia. She seems quite giddy, which is unusual for someone who may or may not have destroyed her own office. And actually wants Yennefer’s presence, which given the day’s drama is beyond strange.

She’s hoping the “plant room” is Tissaia’s old classroom. It’s one of the few options that make sense, so if she bowls over several minor officials in her haste to get there she’s not at all sorry.

Given that Tissaia  _ told  _ her she was with Sabrina and Triss, she really shouldn’t find the scene inside the classroom shocking. But oh, she does.

The three women lie slumped against the furniture, deeply intoxicated and laughing uproariously. She steps inside, examining the three for any sign of harm. They seem...fine.

“Oh look!” Triss points in her direction, arm precariously close to sweeping several plants from a desk. She leans closer to Sabrina, missing her ear by a wide margin as she whispers “We’re to have a new daddy after all!” and bursts into giggles, Sabrina following close behind. 

Wonderful. Fantastic. Her response to today was to go fuck Vilgefortz. She’d be upset, but then she looks at Tissaia and decides that if Vilgefortz was the cause of her current state, Yennefer is going to kill him.

Tissaia is a mess. Her hair is half up and half down, several twigs sticking out at unusual angles. Her dress is ripped at the hem, trailing merrily behind her like the train of a wedding dress, although wedding dresses aren’t usually covered in what looks like a mixture of mud and blood. The only reason Yennefer isn’t yet demanding a medic is by judging by Tissaia’s general demeanor, it isn’t her blood. She’s staring up as if the ceiling contains the mysteries of the universe and humming to herself, expression of perfect bliss on her delicate features. Her pipe is in her hand, and it looks quite a bit like she’s having a post-coital smoke. That mental image is enough to cause her brain to cease functioning for a few seconds, but once she returns to reality she is forced to confront the fact that Tissaia “I am a professional and have no fun” de Vries is drugged to the gills and lying on the floor after possibly either starting a brawl or rolling through a cow pasture, neither of which would make any sense to have in Aretuza. In other words, she’s really fucking confused.

“Holy shit.” It’s the only way to describe the situation. If Yennefer isn’t dreaming it all because Tissaia knocked her unconscious after the morning’s discussion. “What  _ happened  _ to her?” Please let Triss have somehow convinced Tissaia to smoke with her so she can stop worrying and join them. 

“We just found her like this.” Fuck. “She didn’t really...explain.” Yes, thank you, Triss, the woman on the floor didn’t have an itemized schedule of what she’d gotten up to. Shocking.

“We didn’t want to ask because she started talking about legally adopting us. So, you know. She wasn’t making a ton of sense.” Well then. Hopefully, she wasn’t included in that scheme, because incest is for royals and the last thing Yennefer wants is Tissaia thinking about her like a daughter.

“Right, then. So no one’s asked her why she’s decided to spend today like  _ that _ ?” The girls on the floor shake their heads, smiling in a way that Yennefer knows means “you’re in charge now. Deal with it.”

She knows this look because she’s used it way too much for this not to be destiny paying her back for past shenanigans. “Wonderful. You two...just stay here until you’re sober. I’m going to get her upstairs before anyone sees her and gets any ideas.” She creeps towards Tissaia. The other woman doesn’t move. She places a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to get her attention, which works in that Tissaia’s eyes pivot from the ceiling to Yennefer’s face, and the smile on her face grows dramatically. Which is great. Tissaia being happy to see her is wonderful. But then her hands slide up Yennefer’s forearms to wrap around her neck, tugging insistently until Yennefer worries she’s going to collapse on top of Tissaia.

Sabrina and Triss watch from their position across the room, either unwilling to get up or to end the show. Either way, Yennefer is going to kill them later. Right after figuring out what Tissaia took and why on earth she thought doing so with so many people wanting her dead around was a good idea.

She hauls herself off of Tissaia, the woman’s arms refusing to let go. Which is somewhat convenient, because it means Yennefer has an easier time forcing her to her feet.

This victory is tarnished as Tissaia lurches forward, prevented from cracking her head open on the stone floor only because she slams into Yennefer’s chest. Yennefer stumbles but manages to keep them upright, arms full of a Tissaia who looks far too pleased with herself. She may be tiny but Yennefer is not going to be able to carry her up all of the stairs the architects of Aretuza thought were necessary. Instead, she puts her right arm around Tissaia’s hips and lets the other woman grab at her again. If anyone sees them, and surely someone will because portaling someone high on drugs you haven’t identified is a horrible idea, the rumors will fly about the new head mage getting beyond drunk in the middle of the afternoon and requiring help to get to bed. 

They make it to the door before Yennefer is reminded that people under the influence still talk, and not always in a way that’s convenient.

“Remember to eat lunch later, girls!” Tissaia’s free arm spirals in a loose approximation of a wave as Yennefer drags her forward. “Control your chaos! Don’t sleep with strangers!” Okay. She has to laugh at the last one. Apparently, Sabrina hadn’t been joking about Tissaia nominating herself everyone’s mother. Fantastic.

“Bye, mom!” Triss leans halfway out the doorway at an alarming angle, waving back at them. Sabrina is somewhat hidden behind Triss, but she’s still there. Great. If Yennefer isn’t careful, she’s going to end up with two stepdaughters her own age.

People all but dive out of the way as they pass, either afraid of Yennefer or not wanting to get caught up in whatever new development has occurred in the chronicle of Tissaia’s undoing. However, after the third council mage sees Tissaia and begins to sprint in the opposite direction, Yennefer has some questions. Although at least it helps them walk faster. Which is still not fast at all, because it seems that Tissaia is quite comfortable using her as an armrest and winding her fingers through Yennefer’s hair. It’s nice, but seeing as Tissaia is high as a kite she can’t enjoy it properly.

**Why, exactly, is everyone terrified of you today?**

Maybe that’s where the mud came from. Tissaia got high, accosted someone, and everything’s a bit embarrassing but otherwise fine. Please let that be the case.

**I ran into some people on the way to see my lovely daughters. They were quite rude, and I felt the need to clear the air a bit. And so** **_I_ ** **was quite rude. And then some men tried to stab me so I eviscerated them! Maybe I was a bit too forceful?**

Tissaia is alarmingly blasé about someone  _ trying to kill her.  _ How had no one told her about this? And why was she just fine with it?

**I’m sorry. Who the fuck tried to kill you?**

**I haven’t the slightest idea!**

Tissaia sticks her pipe back in her mouth and hums thoughtfully. Right. Well, first order of business is confiscating whatever she’s been smoking. She grabs the pipe, dumps the herbs out onto the floor, and prepares to stuff it into her bag when she realizes that she has no idea what the hell has been in it. Because sure as shit, it isn’t tobacco, and she actually has no clue what that is. She  _ knows _ her magical drugs, so that’s a bit concerning.

**Tissaia? What have you been smoking?**

**Tobacco?**

Well, suddenly quite a few things make sense. Tissaia didn’t just decide to get high off her ass today. Someone switched out her shit, Tissaia didn’t notice, which was more than a bit Yennefer’s fault, and then she drugged herself by accident. Likely in an attempt to make her easier to assassinate.

_ Someone _ is going to die today, and it sure as hell isn’t Tissaia.

Yennefer is ready to cry in relief when they reach Tissaia’s bedroom. She dumps Tissaia on her bed, locks the door, and slumps against the wall. Everything is fine. Tissaia clearly obliterated whoever tried to kill her, she’s fine, and anyone who comes after her will now need to deal with a pissed-off Yennefer. Tissaia really couldn’t be much safer.

She still has a mastermind to find and tear limb from limb, because she’d bet that whoever pulled this shit was afraid to take Tissaia on themself and is still running around.

“Tissaia. If someone was going to get into your office to fuck with your pipe, who would be able to do that?”

Tissaia scoffs loudly and flails about until she’s able to face Yennefer without getting up. “Hmmph. Any idiot willing to spend half a day trying to blow my door open?” She sighs, rolling her eyes as if Yennefer is a foolish child. “No magic can just hold up forever, that’s not how it  _ works. _ ”

Well, that narrows her suspect pool to anyone who can do magic and hates Tissaia. And right now that is a lot of people.

“You’re very beautiful.” Tissaia seems far more enthusiastic about this topic than the previous one, dreamy smile plastered on her face and eyes locked on Yennefer with eerie precision. It’s at this moment Yennefer’s resolve to murder whoever drugged her shoots through the roof. Because this is the drugs talking, and that means teasing Tissaia about this would be all kinds of over the line. And also because she could have died. Yennefer hasn’t forgotten that bit either.

“I shouldn’t have gotten cross with you earlier. I mean, this little game you’re playing is distracting, but it’s also quite fun in a strange way.” Yennefer is ignoring her. She can’t hold any intoxicated ramblings against Tissaia, she knows that, but the other woman is also telling her  _ exactly  _ what she wants to hear and ethically, she wasn’t built for this. “And you were absolutely right about me enjoying some of your...ideas from dinner. I have some of my own, you know.” Fucking shit. Can someone just kill her? Call down a lightning strike? 

If Tissaia wanted to find a way to get even for Yennefer’s somewhat aggressive attempts at courtship she couldn’t have picked a better method.

“Tissaia. You don’t have  _ any  _ idea who might be trying to kill you?”

Tissaia continues on her previous topic as if she hasn’t heard a word Yennefer said. “You should come over here. I’ve missed having you in my bed.” Yennefer doesn’t blush easily, but it’s happening now. She’s focused on the whole thwarted assassination attempt thing, but Tissaia is not making this easy on her. 

“Right. So. Someone broke into your office. Who might that be?”

“My office?” Oh good. Maybe she’s finally coming to her senses. “I would love to take you on that desk. Might keep you more entertained than guarding my door.” Yennefer’s ears are burning, and when she blinks the image of  _ that  _ is branded onto her eyelids. Fantastic. Do not think of fucking Tissaia on her own desk. Do not think of Tissaia fucking  _ her  _ on her desk. Murder! Assassination! There are more important things at hand here.

“Come to think of it, the bathroom might work better. I am a mess.” In more ways than one, Yennefer is tempted to add. But then Tissaia rolls off the bed and onto her feet, staggering in the general direction of her bathroom before nearly breaking her own skull on the floor again. Yennefer is there to catch her because of course, you don’t let the drug-addled person who has been assaulted wander about by herself, and Tissaia is all too pleased when she collides with Yennefer. She nuzzles against her chest far lower than could be considered appropriate, and why is this happening? Why now? Tissaia is almost purring and there is a smile on her face that promises absolute ruination and now Yennefer isn’t sure what to do with her. “Have I mentioned how much I love your breasts?”

For fuck’s sake. Tissaia hasn’t mentioned that before, for the record, and while on any other given day she’d take that as a cue to strip now is not the time. Tissaia tries to ease past Yennefer, and it’s all she can do to grab her before she finishes her attacker’s job by tripping over something and dying ingloriously on the floor.

“Where do you plan on going?” She’s not going anywhere like this. Over her dead body.

“To take a bath, Yennefer.” Okay. Not the worst thing that has come out of Tissaia’s mouth by a long shot. And she is a complete mess. She also knows that in order to make sure Tissaia doesn’t drown she’s going to need to be present. Yennefer supposes it’s only fair. She was on her worst behavior when Tissaia did this for her, and now the universe is settling the score. 

Getting Tissaia to the bathroom is a challenge, but at least there are no witnesses to their strange march. Tissaia’s hands seem to wander of their own accord, and Yennefer doesn’t have enough arms to both make sure she doesn’t fall and prevent Tissaia from grabbing anything she likes. She only hopes Tissaia doesn’t hate her for all of this when she recovers. Getting her out of her dress is another form of torture. She’s undoing the laces blind because no way in hell is she taking the opportunity to peak, but Tissaia keeps  _ talking  _ and has no problem with rubbing herself against Yennefer in a way that is overtly sexual and ruining whatever level of composure Yennefer has been attempting to maintain. 

Tissaia can’t touch her without really trying once she’s in the water, to Yennefer’s relief, but she can still talk. And the problem is she isn’t stopping.

“Would you like to join me, dear? I’d love to get a better look at you.” Yes. She would like that very much, and having willpower is dreadful. This is the worst day ever.

Tissaia is still looking at her, and while Yennefer has struggled to keep her eyes no lower than Tissaia’s neck at all times no matter how much she may want to say to hell with it and examine every inch of skin on display, Tissaia is not following the same rules. She’s staring, making no attempt whatsoever to hide it, and Yennefer has no idea how she’s supposed to respond to this shit. “Be a dear and help me with my hair?” While Tissaia has done an admirable job of getting the mud off of herself, her hair is a wreck and she really isn’t her most coordinated self today. But Tissaia did the same thing for her and it was all very platonic, so maybe this is fine.

The noises Tissaia makes as Yennefer massages the soap into her scalp are in no way platonic. Yennefer isn’t sure if she’s doing this on purpose to screw with her, or if Tissaia is just  _ like this _ , which she would love to explore thoroughly in another context but certainly not now. Either way, Yennefer’s mind has taken a flying, athletic leap into the gutter, breaking seven bones and getting quite stuck there.

“You feel so good.” Not listening. She’s not listening! “Are you sure I can’t convince you to put those lovely fingers to work somewhere else?” 

That’s enough. Her only hope is getting Tissaia to pass out and sleep it off before she implodes from sexual frustration. 

“Stand up. The mud’s off.” She regrets the command the second Tissaia rises out of the water like a siren, water running over the swell of her chest and down her abdomen. Droplets gather in the valley of her throat and Yennefer wants to lick them off, and then spend the rest of eternity marking her up with her teeth. She knows the enchantments do good work, but that smirk can’t be manufactured and her knees are going weak.

Throwing a towel at Tissaia isn’t the most mature or measured thing to do, but if she gets that close to her then she’s guaranteed to either faint or lose her mind. And she can’t do either because she will find whoever is responsible for this situation and then murder them if she has to burn half the mages here.

The second Tissaia is no longer dripping onto the floor, Yennefer hurls her a nightdress, hoping that some degree of motor skills have returned to the woman and she won’t have to try to behave while dressing her.

She doesn’t find out whether Tissaia is capable of dressing herself because she refuses to, brushing past Yennefer in an almost passable excuse for walking and curling up under the entire bed’s worth of blankets like it’s a nest. 

“Aren’t you coming?” The question is more than a bit muffled and Yennefer groans. She cannot climb into bed with a very naked, very drugged Tissaia. That would be beyond unacceptable. That would be-

“I don’t want you to leave me again.” There’s a small hand sticking out from under the covers, beckoning her closer, and the forces of Yennefer’s morals, hormones, and guilt related to those things engage in a brutal but vigorous battle. It’s useless. She knows that she can’t leave Tissaia, both because whoever drugged her might show up to finish the damn job and because that tone of voice may as well be a form of magic. She couldn’t say no if she wanted to. And she really doesn’t want to.

Instead, she toes off her shoes and lays next to Tissaia as close to a respectable distance as she can manage, fingers entwined with hers. Tissaia’s breathing begins to even out almost immediately after Yennefer gives in. She’s more than worn herself out fighting off attackers and aggressively flirting with, mothering, or insulting anyone she comes across.

She’s too perfect. She’s also pushy, cold, demanding, and a huge prude, but Yennefer still adores her so that probably says something about her. How anyone could be stupid enough to try to kill her though- _ Oh.  _ While there are many mages on Aretuza with the desire and magical ability to take a stab at that, few would lack the brains to think it was a good idea. Actually, it’s one person who could be that dim, and Yennefer is pretty certain she could take him with her eyes closed.

She brushes a strand of hair away from Tissaia’s cheek and does her best to settle in next to the blanket hog she’s fallen in love with. She’s going to take care of this before Tissaia even wakes up, and then hopefully they can spend the rest of the day in this bed going over each and every little thing the woman has been cruel enough to bring up over the last few hours when Yennefer can’t do anything about it. Yes. That sounds like a perfect plan, and if anything fucks it up then it’s going to burn.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is attempted murder, a foot race, and more nudity.
> 
> You're welcome.

Tissaia thinks this is what dying feels like. Her head is about to split open, her bones ache, and she has the distinct sense that everything is about to go horribly and irrevocably wrong. She’s wrapped in enough blankets to start a textile store, and for some reason, she isn’t wearing any-Oh dear. Oh  _ no _ . 

She isn’t wearing any clothes. Because she refused to wear them after attempting to molest Yennefer on several occasions. Because Yennefer had to prevent her from embarrassing herself in front of both her girls and the assorted nonessential players of Aretuza. And she killed several people. Several people tried to kill her and she spent the day attempting to seduce Yennefer. Dear gods. Maybe she  _ should  _ just die and save herself the embarrassment.

“Oh good, you’re up.” It’s Triss’s voice she hears. Praise be. If it had been Yennefer...Well. By some small mercy, it isn’t, and she has other things to worry about. “Drink this. It’ll make you feel less shit.” What may be a very blurry Triss holds out a cup of something brown and quite unappetizing. Tissaia lunges forward and downs whatever concoction she’s been handed without bothering to examine it. Which is monumentally stupid seeing as someone drugged her only yesterday, but if Triss, the living embodiment of good in this world, is trying to kill her? She deserves it.

“Have there been any noticeable developments since I became...indisposed?” Like, for instance, someone finding the dead bodies she’d hurled into the sea. That would be inconvenient.

“No!” Triss shouts, and Tissaia winces from both the sound and the horrific contortions Triss pulls as she attempts to keep a straight face. Triss is incapable of lying to her. They both know it. So whatever has inspired her to try must be terrible.

“Triss? I’ll repeat myself. What has happened in the aftermath of yesterday’s incident?”

“I have to go. To do things.” Right. That was it.

“Triss Merigold. What is going on?”

Triss doesn’t reply, hustling towards the door with an apologetic smile. Tissaia, unless she’d like to chase her errant pupil through the halls in the nude, is in no condition to pursue her.

“Hope you feel better soon, mom!” Well. That was a new development, and not one she disliked. However, she’d feel much better when she figured out why Triss is acting so fidgety. Triss behaving as though she had something to hide was never a good sign. Ever. Had Stregobor gotten wind of her behavior? Was Yennefer really challenging Vilgefortz to a duel? What if Yennefer had gotten herself hurt?

She stumbles out of bed and shrugs into the first dress she can reach in her wardrobe. With no idea what is happening or where it might be, she careens out of her room with the intention of searching her office for any clues as to who might have attacked her. On her way, she’ll listen for signs of complete havoc and head in that general direction should they pop up.

Signs of havoc are not hard to find. Halfway down the hall, the floor shakes with the force of a small earthquake. And then there’s the sound of a sizeable explosion downstairs.

Sometimes her job was so easy.

The explosion, as it turned out, was mage-made. And very public. She’s not sure what she expects portaling down the main hall, but Yennefer of Vengerberg on the floor in a ring of fire repeatedly punching an unmoving Stregobor? That was not it.

She takes it back. Nothing about her job is easy.

**What, in the name of all that is good and sane, are you doing?**

Yennefer seemingly ignores her, winding up for another punch. The flames rise higher until they’re almost touching the roof. Several people in the background are screaming and she doesn’t blame them. She’s had enough of being surrounded by flames herself.

**He tried to fucking kill you!**

That would indeed make sense, and she’s a bit embarrassed she’d been so concerned about whatever shenanigans were occuring in her absence to not make that connection. Stregobor would try to send cheap mercenaries to kill her, and certainly, he’d need her out of her mind to stand a chance of that working. Imbecile. But this is Yennefer, so she will assume that the other woman has no evidence whatsoever and just decided to take things into her own very capable hands.

“Is she going to kill him?” Vilgefortz stands at her elbow, surveying the scene with abject concern.

“Would it be the end of the world if she did?”

“Will anyone fight with her if she did?” As much as Tissaia hates to admit it, he may have a point. She’s trying to win a war, not solve her insipid squabbles with another mage, and sacrifices will have to be made.

“Yennefer!” She wonders if she can even hear her over the inferno. “Enough!”

**Seriously? He tried to** **_fucking kill you!_ **

**** **I’m aware. Kill the flames, please.**

The towering fire putters out, leaving a scorched ring on the floor. Yennefer removes herself from Stregobor, kicks him as hard as possible, and then marches over to Tissaia. “What the fuck, Tissaia?” She sounds like the sullen teenager she once was, but energy crackles around her like an oncoming lightning strike and it makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. It occurs to Tissaia that none of them have ever seen Yennefer this furious before. Hurt and hopeless and desperate, yes, but this is a level of rage that would be alarming if it weren’t on her behalf. Now it’s just...strange. She has the urge to leap into Yennefer’s arms and let her burn the rest of the hall down, knowing she’ll be more than protected in the chaos. Which is another thing to add to the list of frustrating incidents involving Yennefer, but not something she can think about while trying to avoid a crisis or someone’s death.

“It has been brought to my attention that unless we’d like to conscript half of Aretuza by force, murdering mages in the great hall might be a poor choice. Image is everything to these preening buffoons.” She does not mention that Stregobor may already be quite deceased. He isn’t moving, and what remains of his robes are crackling merrily as they are engulfed in flames. She should do something about it, out of human decency if nothing else, but the damage has been done and if he dies of his injuries without Yennefer striking the final blow the fallout will be far less severe  _ and  _ she won’t need to deal with him.

Yennefer does not appear convinced of the merits of not finishing him off herself. “Then what do  _ you  _ suggest we do with him?”

“Perhaps a trial?” Vilgefortz places a hand on her arm. “I’ll arrange everything necessary. The dungeons will hold him until then.” His voice is soothing, but it does nothing but irritate her. She doesn’t need Vilgefortz to arrange things for her, much less when they’ll be trying a corpse, she needs him to be focusing on matters of actual importance. 

“If you keep touching her, you’ll lose a damn hand. Grab that thing, whether he’s alive or dead, and leave,” Yennefer growls out, lips curled away from her teeth in a snarl. A strong gust of wind whips through the hall, swirling laps around the three of them and doing nothing to diminish Yennefer’s wild appearance. She is terrible and beautiful in equal measure.

For all his accolades and heroics in battle, Vilgefortz flees the scene without a backward glance. She understands. No one would be fool enough to defy Yennefer right now. Except her. Because that is her job now, head nuisance wrangler on the island of useless morons. She marches through the doors as if this is all going according to plan, unwilling to tip her hand and show how desperate she is to remove Yennefer from the public eye by conjuring a portal. She knows that her dear human tornado will follow her if only to demand Stregobor be turned over to her tender mercy. Or that she send Vilgefortz to the dungeon in his stead. 

**What on earth were you** **_thinking?_ **

Going off and attempting to murder another mage in public, with no backup. She could have been hurt! Not killed, obviously, even if everyone in the hall had tried to stop her, but quite possibly injured!

**What was** **_I_ ** **thinking? You should have let me kill him! He tried to kill you for fuck’s sake. Do you have any idea how worried I was? What if he were less incompetent, Tissaia? You’d just be** **_gone._ **

They make a strange picture, side by side in the hallway with matching scowls, pace gradually increasing as Tissaia attempts to outpace her pursuer. She hasn’t a chance of doing so with how much longer Yennefer’s legs are, but her goal is to distract her rather than escape. For now, anyway, because sooner or later if Yennefer remains at her side a very uncomfortable conversation will have to occur, and she’d really rather  _ not. _

**Stregobor’s incompetence is a fundamental truth of magic, dear. I was never in any danger.**

Of anything other than public humiliation, anyway. She’s beyond thankful Yennefer is too enraged to mention the less violent aspects of yesterday’s episode yet.

And just like that, a solution is presented. Maybe her best strategy is to feign a complete disregard for her own personal safety. Yennefer will be distracted by berating her for her recklessness, and nothing sexual will come up. Wonderful. She begins walking faster, wary of the concerned eyes she feels on her back. They must think she’s well and truly lost her mind. Such a pity. If anyone complains, Yennefer will blast them apart.

She tries very hard not to be affected by the thought. There has never been a sexual connotation to others attempting to protect her, and she’s not going to develop such an inconvenient tendency now. She really isn’t.

Or perhaps there’s nothing she can do about it either way. When Yennefer of Vengerberg is concerned, Tissaia loses control of her own emotions, and it’s beyond unacceptable. 

**Never in any danger? You nearly drowned in a bathtub. Fell down the stairs. Apparently, you challenged half the council to a mage’s duel and you’re very lucky no one took you up on it! Not to mention the** **_actual assassins_ ** **. What part of that isn’t dangerous?**

Tissaia feels the shadow of a grin creep up her cheeks. Yennefer has always been so easy to infuriate. 

**Well, here I am. I suppose you make a decent bodyguard after all.**

That was the wrong thing to say. She knows it the second she thinks it. So instead of enduring a discussion of what, exactly, Yennefer had to deal with while protecting her from herself, Tissaia makes the very mature and logical decision to make a run for it.

**What are you doing?**

She doesn’t reply, sprinting forward and leaving Yennefer scrambling to catch up. She isn’t sure what she’s doing or why, hasn’t been sure for quite some time, but she likes the way her heart is hammering and the way her lungs burn. This is simple and doesn’t make her question things or feel in ways that are equally incredible and distracting. So she’ll keep going until she runs out of hallway and make a new plan from there.

**Why. Are. You.** **_Running?_ **

A semi-hysterical laugh escapes from her mouth. Who even cared? Why did anyone do anything? Why did Yennefer say she was in love with her? Because that was another thing she didn’t feel like addressing again, but would likely have to. 

She runs out of hallway. The only new plan she can think of is darting into her bedroom and slamming the door, which would be beyond childish, the very thing she’d accused Yennefer of being the day before, but it seemed as though she was just a hypocrite now. 

She’d forgotten that with her far longer legs, Yennefer is a faster runner than she’ll ever be. This means that she makes it inside before Tissaia can fully wrestle the door closed.

She is now trapped in her bedroom with Yennefer, the last thing it is safe for her to be if she intends on maintaining some form of professional boundaries and composure. Which are all she has left at this point, her dignity long dead with her certainty and self-control. 

Yennefer locks the door and flings herself onto Tissaia’s bed, hair fanned out around her face like a halo. She toes off her shoes and settles in as if she belongs there, and Tissaia makes a concentrated effort to ignore the irritating voice in the back of her head insisting that yes, this is exactly the way things should be. Because it is  _ wrong.  _ Yennefer may be back, and she may intend to stay for the duration of the war, but she’s young and so easily bored and Tissaia won’t be able to hold it against her when she leaves again. So any ridiculous confessions putting  _ ideas  _ into her head are going to be ignored.

“So. We need to talk.” Yennefer smirks up at her, parroting Tissaia’s own words from the previous morning and looking like she’s enjoying turning the tables far too much. 

They do need to talk. She knows this. If she’d like any chance of salvaging their previous relationship, they need to put all of this madness behind them.

She knows that she lacks the strength to do so. Yennefer is irresistible, a wild flickering flame she’ll only burn herself on, and the only defense against such a temptation is to ignore its presence. 

She falls into her armchair, picks up the nearest book, and opens it in front of her face in clear dismissal. Because she may be willing to face down an army, but talking about feelings and things she may have said while intoxicated with her very lovely but misguided companion is terrifying and she’s opting out.

“Fine. Then I’ll talk and you’ll listen.”

She is not listening. She refuses.

“I love you.” She  _ thought _ she loved her. There was an unfortunate but distinct difference. “I’m not leaving.” Yet. “And it’s pretty obvious you don’t want me to anyway.” Tissaia’s brows knit together, frustration building in her gut. Of all the things she’d said, begging Yennefer not to leave her again had to be the most damaging. And the most true. “So I’m going to keep telling you until you admit you like me too. Or at least have a better answer than ‘Oh, you’re ridiculous and I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.’ Because that was pathetic.” It was, but it was the best answer she could give. Nothing good could come from this. She refused to hurt Yennefer, tell her she was unworthy of her affections and chase her form Aretuza to protect herself, but she also refused to leap into the flames like a sacrificial animal only for Yennefer to consume her and move on when she grew bored. 

An insidious voice at the back of her traitorous brain hissed that really, she ought to just get it out of her system. Maybe Yennefer’s as well. Then they could both move on with their lives. A different, far more frustrating voice reminds her that there  _ is _ no removing Yennefer from her system, that once she surrenders to this she may as well prepare to spend the rest of her life chasing the woman once she leaves yet again.

“Or, we don’t need to talk about love.” Oh, thank the heavens. “We can talk about your very fertile imagination and some of the ideas it conjured up last night. I was especially interested in-”

“Enough. You’ve made your point.” The book snaps shut, and she tosses it aside to thud somewhere against the floor. Yennefer stares at her like she expects some kind of continued response, which would indeed make sense and to be frank with herself, Tissaia probably owes her one. And an apology. And an order to leave before they both get hurt for no discernible reason.

“I do care for you a great deal.” Why are words so difficult? She’s usually magnificent at this, manipulating any who come before her into doing exactly what she wants. It isn’t working today. Her pulse is racing and the fabric of her dress is far too coarse against her skin and she doesn’t know what on earth she ought to do. Which is the most alarming part of any of this.

“And? Because if this is the part where you tell me I need to stop chasing you for my own good, I’m going to scream.” No, this is the part where Tissaia tries to find a tactful way to announce that her heart is fragile enough and Yennefer has the unique ability to destroy her. That she’s a coward. That nothing is worth the pain that Yennefer leaving a second time will bring. 

“You need to stop chasing me for  _ my _ own good.”

Yennefer’s eyebrows twitch in amusement. “That so? Cause it seems like I’d be really good for you.” She climbs off the bed, slinking forward until she can kneel in Tissaia’s chair, knees on either side of her thighs preventing all attempts at escape. Yennefer’s arms rest on her shoulders, back arched in an attempt to show off certain assets that should be far less effective than it is. She’s drowning in Yennefer’s scent, the other woman’s hair brushing against her neck as she leans forward. Her teeth scrape against Tissaia’s ear and all of a sudden she may as well combust. Her eyes flicker shut, willing herself to grow some sort of will power. Yennefer feels so good against her, and there are so many reasons to stop but none of them seem any good. Having Yennefer for as long as possible might even be worth dealing with when it all comes crashing down. “I can feel you overthinking this. Don’t.”

Ha. If anything, she isn’t thinking this through enough, because the urge to say to hell with it and kiss the menace in her lap is growing far too quickly for logic to be playing a part. 

“Then why don’t you?” Yennefer looks down at her as if doing so would be the easiest thing in the world, tongue flitting over her lips, and Tissaia wonders whether it is possible to portal into the wilderness and never return.

She did not mean to think that, and she certainly did not mean for Yennefer to  _ hear her _ . That’s the trouble with thoughts, unfortunately. They were one of the few things that regularly escaped her iron will. And now she had mere seconds to decide whether she was willing to face the consequences of that lapse. This was why using telepathy for non-emergency communication is heavily frowned upon. Tissaia has no idea what the correct response to the unwelcome situation was, but staring into Yennefer’s eyes like a mesmerized fool was not it. 

“And if you really think using logic when deciding who to be with is a good idea, then fine. Let’s be logical. I love you. Anyone who so much as looks at you wrong, I will destroy in minutes. And I guarantee I can get you to relax enough to avoid dying of a heart attack, which most people agree would take an act of magical intervention. So what’s the problem?” The problem is that Tissaia is currently unable to form words or stop staring at the ample chest that is right at eye level. The problem is that if she says yes here and now, she will never be able to get Yennefer out of her head, and that is rapidly becoming less of an armageddon-level threat and more of an obvious eventuality. Even if Yennefer were to conjure one of her portals and prance away right now, the damage has already been done.

**Fine.**

Yennefer coos softly, tracing the outline of Tissaia’s bottom lip with her thumb. “What’s fine? You’re going to have to be more specific. Fine, I love you too, I admit it? Fine, I’m a mess, fuck me? Fine, you’re right about everything and I give in?”

“All the above. Just please stop talking.” Well. It’s out there. No matter how idiotic allowing such a thing to occur may be. But with Yennefer looking at her like  _ that _ , like she’s the one who stuck the stars in the sky, it doesn’t feel like it matters. Whether destiny has thrown the perfect woman into her life for good or she’s signed her own eventual death warrant, Yennefer is all that matters at the moment.

And then Yennefer’s lips are pressed against hers and her hands are sliding down Tissaia’s body to cup her breasts, and perhaps her brain neglects to function for a few moments. The weight against her is comforting, and Yennefer’s hair is so soft under her fingers. She’s laughing against Tissaia’s lips, tongue flicking against her in a not so subtle demand. She opens her mouth more out of instinct than conscious thought, is rewarded with Yennefer’s tongue against her own. She’s burning and freezing at the same time and is quite confused by the phenomenon until she realizes Yennefer has been undoing the buttons of her dress while she was otherwise occupied. She doesn’t mind in the slightest.

She also doesn’t mind when Yennefer pulls away from her and hauls her off the chair by her forearms. She’s unsteady as she staggers forward, dress pooling at her feet, and fully exposed to Yennefer’s roving eyes. It’s an entirely vulnerable position, and she feels like she ought to be  _ doing  _ something or controlling the situation but no plan of action comes to mind.

“Aren’t you coming?” Yennefer beckons her forward, and her feet remember how to move of their own volition until she’s enveloped in Yennefer’s arms, which feels beyond wonderful. She pulls Tissaia in for another bruising kiss, hands gripping her hips to pull her closer, and she would do almost anything to get rid of the layers of Yennefer’s clothes keeping them apart. It’s really not fair, after all, that Tissaia isn’t able to see her.

It surprises her when Yennefer all but throws her onto the bed, and when she lands she temporarily forgets how to breathe. She begins to prop herself up on her elbows, only to freeze as she sees Yenneefer peeling herself out of her dress. And it is quite a sight. Her mouth is dry, and she’s panting for breath, and the room seems far warmer than is possible. Yennefer is staring her dead in the eyes as her what remains of her clothing falls to the floor, and Tissaia can’t look away, not after so many incidents of being presented with this but not being allowed to look. Yennefer seems content to stand before her and preen under the attention, arching her back and rotating slightly to offer her a better view. It’s meant to be a teasing gesture, Yennefer’s red lips twisted into a mocking smirk, but she’s enjoying the view far too much to be annoyed by her antics. Yennefer raises and eyebrow and winks at her, then snakes a hand down her body until it rests between her thighs and  _ oh. _

That is entirely too much, and she jerks her eyes away to focus on some far-flung corner of the room, face burning. Because she wants to be able to touch Yennefer, badly enough that it hurts. And that is an extremely uncomfortable sensation for a woman whose empire is built on perfect control of her own thoughts and feelings.

“Tissaia. I dealt with you all of yesterday, so I know you like looking at all this.” Tissaia is sure some lewd gesture accompanies her statement but refuses to see for herself. “This really isn’t the time to try and act modest, or whatever this is. It’s cute, but we could be having so much more fun.” Whatever this is could be referred to as Tissaia attempting to avoid entering cardiac arrest or perhaps losing consciousness. The invitation in Yennefer’s voice is causing an intense ache between her thighs, and she isn’t sure whether she wants to pull the other woman down on top of her and let her do whatever she likes or pin her to the bed and make her stop talking for the rest of the night. Her pulse is pounding in her ears as she whips around to face her, unwilling to give Yennefer the satisfaction of admitting just how rapidly her self control is unwinding at the seams.

“Are you capable of not talking for more than a minute straight?”

Yennefer surges forward in answer, succeeding in knocking Tissaia flat on her back and pressing herself against her. She occupies herself with attacking the skin of Tissaia’s neck and chest, conspicuously not speaking whatsoever. Tissaia, on the other hand, is having great difficulty stifling her reactions to the teeth sinking into her skin. Her nails are digging hard enough into Yennefer’s back that there’s sure to be marks there in later, but Yennefer is undeterred. 

And then she’s pulling away, hovering over Tissaia’s prone body, and if Tissaia ends up whimpering in frustration then she’s going to pretend it never happened. “So. Is my flirting still wildly inappropriate? Because I’ll stop.”

Yes. It is still so far beyond merely inappropriate that she has no words to describe the levels of socially unacceptable that they’ve reached. That doesn't mean it’s unwelcome in the strictest sense of the word. “Don’t stop.” It’s presented as an order. She is far past the point of being able to command Yennefer and expect results, but she’d rather ignore her thoughts and get lost in the feeling of Yennefer so close to her which means stopping is not an option.

“Are you sure? Because- _ mmph!” _

__ Tissaia grins into the kiss. She’s tired of Yennefer running her mouth, and this appears to be a mutually enjoyable solution. Her legs wrap around Yennefer’s hips, keeping her in place as she twists her hands into silken hair and pulls. The little gasp of shock she gets in return is beyond adorable. 

“Do I get to take the rest of your clothes off now? Because this doesn’t seem fair.”

Tissaia could argue that since Yennefer spent almost all of yesterday dealing with her in various states of undress, she’s the one running at a deficit, but that would require being articulate. When caught in a riptide, anyone will advise you not to struggle and follow the flow of the current, and while this is a far less life-or-death situation the principle remains the same.

“As you wish, dear.” Why bother to argue? Yennefer is reverent in her gaze as she undresses her, worshiping the exposed skin like she’s some kind of higher being, and apparently giving Yennefer whatever she likes tends to have rather pleasurable results. Her hands drift down Tissaia’s abdomen until they’re inches from where she wants them and then they stop as Yennefer’s lips and tongue assault her chest. She throws her head back into the mattress and resists the urge to scream. Yennefer has been an insufferable tease for days. Why would she stop now? If she can drive Tissaia halfway to drink when confessing her affections than why  _ wouldn’t  _ she be the same way in bed?

“Yennefer. What are you doing?” It’s the most dignified way she can think to say “Why on earth have you stopped and what do I need to agree to in order to make you start again?”

“Admiring the view?” 

Tissaia is fighting a losing battle against the competing urges to beg for what she needs and throttling Yennefer. Which one would be worse, she can’t decide. Yennefer is propped up on her elbows and most decidedly not touching her, and this is really just not an acceptable situation. Her face contorts into what is beyond the shadow of a doubt the worst innocent look Tissaia has seen in her life, and whatever charming new act of blatant foolishness she’s cooked up had better involve  _ doing something  _ instead of just ogling her chest or she’s getting up and drinking whatever remains of her liquor cabinet since her past meltdown.

“Is there something you’d like me to be doing instead? Because you had so many suggestions yesterday I don’t quite know where to start.”

“You’re beyond horrible.” The insult lacks any and all bite, more of a pitiful groan than anything else, and Yennefer’s insufferable smirk creeps just a bit wider.

“Am I? Am I really?” It is a tribute to her acting skills that she can look wounded while simultaneously appearing on the verge of deranged laughter. It would be disturbing if she didn’t like seeing Yennefer happy quite so much. “And here I thought I was getting somewhere. If you dislike me so much I ought to leave-”

“Don’t even think about it.” She’s not sure if Yennefer is referring to leaving her here like this and returning to her bedroom or traipsing off of Aretuza to bed another Witcher, but neither are going to be allowed. 

“So you do like me?”

“For heaven’s sake. I like you, I love you, stay forever, but if you don’t touch me, I will be forced to do something drastic.” What that might be, she has no idea, and she can’t divert the brainpower needed to think of a suitable threat as Yennefer crashes into her arms.

“I do like it when you ask nicely for things. Almost makes you seem human.” Her fingers inch lower and Tissaia’s breath is caught in her throat. “But I think you can do better than that.”

“Please?” It worked last time. It does not seem to be working this time because Yennfer isn’t moving and her lip is pushed out in an outrageous facsimile of disappointment. Tissaia is really starting to hate that pout and all it entails. “Please fuck me, Yennefer.” She’s given up on dignity at this point. There is nothing dignified about the purpling bruises scattered over her neck and chest. Nor at her current position. Certainly there is nothing admirable about the heights of inane behavior she’s been driven to the past few days. So what’s a little begging? 

“I love the way you say my name.” Yennefer’s hands drop to her thighs. She pushes them open and slides down Tissaia’s body, pressing a kiss to her stomach before diving between her thighs. Yennefer’s tongue finds her clit, and if she ever had any objections to this entire enterprise she’s forgotten them now. Her legs twitch as Yennefer probes at her entrance with her tongue, hands keeping her spread wide and she ends up biting her own fist to keep from moaning loudly enough to be heard outside. She bites down hard enough that she’s certain she’s going to draw blood when Yennefer’s fingers slip inside of her. It’s so slow when she finally moves, Tissaia grinding her hips in a desperate attempt to get the friction she wants but Yennefer is always able to shift just out of reach until she stops. She’s burning from the inside out, can feel her muscles tightening in what  _ would  _ be a mind-blowing orgasm if Yennefer would just stop being a tease for two minutes. 

“Yennefer, go faster,  _ please!”  _ Please let that be the game. If all she needs to do is ignore her own pride and ask for what she wants then she’ll gladly play along.

**What do I get if I do?**

The rhythmic movements of her mouth and fingers never change, and she’s stuck right on the verge of climax with no ability to push herself over. It’s almost painful, but it feels so good and while she can feel the tension in her muscles growing she wouldn’t stop for anything..

“Whatever you like!” Yennefer purrs against her and while the vibration is heaven, nothing else is changing and Tissaia is at her wits end.

**You sure? Cause I want you. Permanently.**

She hasn’t fully processed the request before tripping over herself to agree. She almost has to laugh. Yennefer is demanding something she already has, after all. Tissaia would have preferred not to tip her hand quite so far, but finds that when it comes to Yennefer in her bed, most of her scruples find themselves unceremoniously thrown into a corner with their clothes.

Yennefer finally increases her pace, and Tissaia’s hips shoot forward as she groans Yennefer’s name in a pleading gasp. The tightness building in her abdomen is far too enjoyable to think about how she ought to be embarrassed, and she finds it beyond impossible to care.

**Are you close, Tissaia?**

“Yes. For what seems like several years now. Fuck!” Yennefer’s tongue soothes over where she’s bitten her, and Tissaia ruminates just how unfair it is that Yennefer appears solely ruled by her own desires until reaching the bedroom, at which point she gains near-unlimited patience used for the purpose of torturing her. 

**Good. Come for me, and let everybody else hear it when you do.**

One of her legs is thrown over Yennefer’s shoulder, the other pinned to the bed as Yennefer spreads her as wide as possible. The fingers inside of her are rough and demanding, and when she finally falls apart it’s with Yennefer’s eyes locked with hers and the other woman’s name on her lips like a prayer. She falls apart too rapidly to brace for it or make any attempt at stifling her own cries. 

She comes down from her peak slowly, the world still fuzzy at the edges. Yennefer’s head rests against her thigh, shining fingers tracing patterns up her stomach, and the smug look on her face is beyond insufferable. The second she remembers how to breathe she is going to get even. For several hours.

She plans to, anyway, until Yennefer slithers up beside her to wrap around Tissaia like some kind of serpent. Her arms are trapped by her sides, and Yennefer doesn’t seem to have any plans of moving.

“I can hear you thinking. Stop it.”

She’s thinking of the most effective way to fuck Yennefer senseless, a pursuit that she’d thought the other woman would do less to prevent. “I promise you’ll like what I’m thinking of. Let go.”

Yennefer tightens her grip, ever the rebellious hellion. “Go to sleep, Tissaia. I’ve probably prevented you from doing that enough this week.” She’s not wrong, but this is  _ so  _ much more important. “I promise I’ll do anything you like in the morning. Even if it’s be on time to some boring meeting. But go to sleep.” She wants to argue. She really,  _ really  _ wants to argue, but her eyelids flutter shut of their own accord and the sense of calm that’s overtaken her body is making it very hard to focus and maybe this would be less of a problem if she’d spent less time panicking this week instead of resting, but she didn’t and now must pay the price.

Yennefer nuzzles contentedly against her neck, arm thrown over her waist, and maybe falling asleep in her arms without making her scream wouldn’t be the end of the entire world. Just most of it.

Yennefer wakes up with Tissaia in her arms, an insistent throbbing between her legs, and a smile wide enough to split her face.

Granted, preventing Tissaia from enacting what was no doubt a rather delicious attempt at vengeance had not helped the second of those things, but Yennefer worried about her. And making sure she didn’t keel over and die from exhaustion just as she admitted that yes, she was in love with Yennefer and yes, she was allowed to stay would absolutely not be okay. But that was fine. Because with all the meetings and work Tissaia had been dealing with, surely they wouldn’t be needed by anybody until at least noon?

Or later. Tissaia hasn’t stirred in her arms, and no way is Yennefer going to wake her up. She’s actually peaceful and not embroiled in her usual half-dozen schemes going on at once and she’s smiling in her sleep. So no. Waking her up would be a crime.

Especially given that there was no guarantee that once conscious, Tissaia wouldn’t panic and flee the scene. Because she knew Tissaia, and admitting to having actual feelings for another person? With Yennefer’s track record for fleeing in the face of emotional hardship? Oh yes, awake Tissaia was a flight risk, and Yennefer was enjoying the fragile peace far too much.

When Tissaia’s eyes creep open, Yennefer prepares herself for the worst. Screaming. Crying. Insisting Yennefer remove herself from her presence and never return.

What she gets instead is Tissaia blinking sleepily up at her and demanding “Is anyone dead?”

Which. You know. Is not exactly “Good morning.”

“Not except for Stregobor maybe?”

“Wonderful. In that case, everyone can handle themselves for the next...until I say so.” With that, she pulls Yennefer down on top of her and sinks back into the pillows. “Give me a few minutes to wake up and then I’m all yours.” 

Yennefer likes that idea very much. The bit about Tissaia being hers more than anything else. Oh, and her not running for the hills. That is also a nice surprise.

“All mine, hmm? And what should I do with you?” Marry her? Kidnap her from this hellhole? Screw her brains out until someone breaks the damn door down?

“Kiss me. And stop talking. It’s my turn.” Her intent becomes rather obvious as her hand tightens imperceptibly around Yennefer’s neck, Tissaia’s teeth digging into her bottom lip. Right. Her turn.

Yennefer likes that idea almost as much as the others, which would all involve leaving this room. Which is not going to happen for some time. 

Maybe she’ll bring up the kidnapping thing tomorrow. Just in case her love is willing to abandon all of her responsibilities for a bit. She’ll work in the marriage idea once they’re away from hundreds of stodgy old mages who’d like to object at the ceremony.


End file.
